


The Future Is Bright

by am3ria



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Apocalypse, End of the World, Graphic Description of Corpses, Homophobia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mpreg, Non-Graphic Violence, Omega Castiel, Omega Castiel/Alpha Dean Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements, Will add tags as I go, no omega's left, spousal abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 20:51:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 42,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10624923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/am3ria/pseuds/am3ria
Summary: It's the end of the world.There are no more omegas, no more babies, and no hope for the future.Dean? Dean doesn't mind. It doesn't matter to Dean that he'll never even know what an omega smells like, or how they'll look. If he's going to die soon he may as well enjoy life while he can.Then he smells something and everything changes.





	1. Grey

**Author's Note:**

> First a/b/o fic.  
> Opinions please!  
> I thought of this in the middle of the night and wanted to get out a first chapter to gather opinions on whether or not this is an idea worth continuing. It's quite short for that reason.  
> So comments please and thanks.

Considering it's the end of the world, Dean's a pretty happy guy.   
  
The year is 2020 and it's Summer but it doesn't look like it. The world's gone to shit and it looks like it's being tended to (or not) by nothing but greasy, gassy, over grown alpha males. It looks that way because it _is_ that way.   
  
Dean knows all about the history of when it started and how it's been progressing but he doesn't let it get him down because what can he do about it? There's no omega's left and that means goodbye, human race. But Dean's just one guy. Dean's just one more alpha in a world of alpha's and beta's and he figures if they're all going to get old and die anyway why shouldn't he make the best of it?  
  
____  
  
It started in the 50's, they think. It started happening without people noticing and by the time they had it was too late to try and fix the problem.   
  
At first, people were just so proud to be having alpha and beta pups. Everyone was just so ecstatic that they weren't having omegas. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with being an omega except, well, the fact that you were born and raised to be a home maker who pushes out pups until your womb wasn't ripe anymore. It wasn't a glamorous life but it was the only lifestyle anyone knew. So yeah, omega's were happy they weren't having omega's. They felt waves upon waves of relief for their children that they weren't going to have the life that their parents had. That they were having.   
  
Then it was the 70's and people were noticing that there weren't male omega's anymore. Beggars couldn't be choosers and a smell was a smell. You didn't worry about if you found a mate in the gender you had always found attractive. You just found that female omega and suddenly you were trying to woo her and spoil her and get her to pick you because omega's _could_ be choosers now that they were becoming a hot commodity.  
  
Then, it was the 90's, and Dean and Sam had both presented as alpha's and they were grown men and the only scent of omega you ever caught was that of one being described by an uncle, a father, a grandparent because there were so few left and they were all starting to hide, starting to get scared.  
  
There was no mating. There was no love. There was, on occasion, an omega blooming and they were just a teen, just getting their first heat, and someone would smell them. Someone would smell them and find them and they'd be treated like the bitch at a puppy mill. They'd be bred over and over and over until their body couldn't survive another pregnancy, couldn't make it through another delivery. So they'd be there, bleeding out on the table, and some alpha doctor would pull the baby from them and they wouldn't even bother stitching them up properly. They'd close them so they wouldn't make a mess of the room, haphazard staples and stitches and bandages, and they'd send them downstairs to die.  
  
Then it was 2020 and even the people who had known omega's in their lives were dying out and suddenly people couldn't remember what a smell was and all the omega's that had been bred to death had their pups hitting puberty and the world held their breath only to find that they were alpha's and beta's and the rage of the alpha's escalated and crime was on the rise and that's how this world, this place that used to beautiful, had come to look constantly grey.  
  
The streets were dirty and grey, the weather always seemed grey, the buildings and books and clothes were grey and drab. Everyone was preparing for a funeral. Everyone was waiting until their time was up, hoping they had a younger brother or sister that would mourn them. Hoping they weren't the youngest so they wouldn't be the last one to die.   
  
So that's where we find Dean, making the best of what's left of his life. He's heading down a dimly lit alley to his favorite bar to meet his brother when he _smells_ something that brings him to his knees.  
  
That's when everything Dean Winchester ever knew changes.


	2. What Are You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean smells the world in a whole new way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alriiiiighty. Here's a second chapter. As the first, please give me feedback! My parents had baby all day yesterday and I wrote about ten chapters. Couldn't seem to stop! I've realized I want this fic to go in a very dark direction so please be warned that there will be some depressing stuff coming up. Tags will be adjusted accordingly!

It's not like Dean's never smelled _anything_ before. He has. It's not like noses just simply stopped working one day. It was just that scents had always been faint and bland. Not important. No significance.  
  
This is different though. It makes his nostrils flare and he grips his temples because his head feels overloaded. He's dizzy with this odour that's somehow permeating his every pore. In a way it's too much, making him ache, making his head throb like every beat of his heart is expanding his innards, ready to explode out of him at any moment.  
  
This smell, it hurts, but it makes Dean think of words he's only ever seen written in texts. The smell _feels_ like words he's read but never said aloud because they never had a tangible meaning before this moment.  
  
He thinks of _beauty,_ and it looks blue but also cold. Like it would chill you to your core like the winters of Alaska but also warm your soul like the beaches of California. It's beautiful and it's blue and it's a tide crashing over him and pulling him under.  
  
He's on his knees and one hand stays clasping his head, yanking his dirty hair as if it will ease his senses but his other hand is on the ground, holding him up and hunched over so he's not simply laying flat on the dirty pavement.  
  
He thinks of the word _angel_ and it looks white but also gold. Like there is a safe shining ring of golden light that engulfs him. It illuminates him. It feels pure, this white, like feathers that are too soft when they wrap his shoulders. Like they should lay over his waist and hold him when he sleeps. Like they will brush over every inch of him and make him shiver but the golden halo will keep him from ever feeling a true chill again.  
  
He thinks of the words _love_ and _body_ and they're pink and red. It's gentle, like pink lips that need to watched when they move to speak. It's like it's cloaking him in a familiar blanket that seals over him. There is body and red and they are like organs that are sliding over his own, holding him in, making his life full. They're hot and damp and they coat him in a sheen of sweat that instead of leaving him stinking make him feel at ease. Instead of uptight and full of something he needs to share but can't these words and colours make him feel like he can empty all of himself into- and other words come then that are _vessel, partner, future_ \- something that is waiting for him if he could just gather himself.  
  
If he could just get to his feet and follow this invisible trail. He's wary. Worried that if gets closer he won't be able to handle it. He tries to stand and he staggers. He finds a brick wall and uses it to steady himself. One hand never leaves it and he knows his nails will be even more caked with dirt than they were before from grazing along it.  
  
There's the sound of crumbling after every slip of his hand. The walls coming down, broken from the weary world. They don't know how to stand on their own anymore. Dean suddenly feels that he doesn't either. He's dragging his boots through a sea of trash. It tugs lazily at his calves and shins, crumpling with every foot fall, skidding with every shuffle.  
  
Dean rounds a corner, end of the alley in sight, and there's a beige ball in the middle of the collapsing sidewalk that is huddled over, much like Dean had been. It seems just as in distress as he was, at first, but then Dean realizes that it is just a man tying his shoe.  
  
He laughs, loud and crazy. It makes his headache warn him to calm down. What did he think he was going to find? How could a scent make you think of and feel things you didn't even understand?   
  
Then the beige ball unfurls and it's thin and tall. It has black at the top and Dean walks towards it. It's just a man and he'll just make his way to the bar this way. It's all the same to Dean.  
  
When he reaches the edges of the alley the black head turns and Dean is frozen in place. He can't move and he can't seem to remember how to breath correctly. His mouth opens in a wide gasp, gulping in the rancid air. Then it's different. The air almost shimmers around the man.  
  
The man frowns, face contorted in confusion. "Hello," a voice made of gravel and earth says, "are you alright?"  
  
Dean is very much not alright. He's in a daze. He's ill. What's happening to him? He wants to say "no" and "I need help" but when he looks closer the words beauty and love and angel and body come back. This man's eyes are blue and his mouth is pink. His skin is white but looks golden and Dean takes one step closer, trembling.  
  
"What are you?" He marvels. 


	3. An Omega

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation in an alley between two very different creatures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written 17 chapters of this (I'm aware the chapters are quite short so far) and think it's getting close to being halfway through or two thirds of the way through. Of course that's when I decide with all stories I don't like them anymore. I'll still try to keep updating often as I can. Feedback is much loved please/thanks!

"Excuse me?" The gravel sounds like it hurts to project but Dean thinks it sounds like a chorus of birds singing their happiest tune. Could it hurt to speak? Maybe he's sick. They're all dying. They all enjoy their own poisons because it's too late to worry about harming your body. Perhaps the voice comes from the searing feeling of alcohol when it coats his throat. It could be the rawness of drugs crushed, but not enough, into powders to snort.They drip down the sinuses and scratch on their way.  
  
Dean realizes it's probably that this alpha was recently in a fight and the growls and yells left his vocal chords in shambles.  
  
But no. This isn't an alpha. Is it? The man before him looks tall enough, but maybe too slim. A beta then? But beta's don't give off any scent at all. Dean reverts to his previous question.  
  
"What are you?"  
  
"You appear ill. Are you intoxicated?" The main raises his hands, offers a shrunken and defensive stance that brings his shoulders up like a raised hackle but together like a spooked child. "I have no interest in fighting you, alpha." He steps back and nearly into the street. Though there are no cars on it Dean feels a bolt of panic that this man may be harmed.  
  
"Stop," he wails, desperate. "I'm not going to fight you. I don't want to hurt you. I just want to know what you are. You don't..." Dean stutters over his words, eyes rolling around in his skull at such a rapid pace he's dizzy again. He's looking for some logical explanation but nothing is dawning on him.  
  
He grows ever closer to the other man despite the clear unease it's bringing the ebony haired creature until Dean reaches out and touches and it makes his fingertips sting. "You _smell_ ," he whispers.  
  
The other man stands upright, audibly sniffing. His eyes scan mechanically over Dean and it feels intrusive yet comforting.  
  
"I can't imagine how that's possible," gravel says, "I'm a beta. We don't smell." The man raises his own hand, sniffs at the back of it. "Perhaps my clothes or skin touched an alpha and-"  
  
"No," Dean whimpers. He grasps the wrist that hovers by the other mans face and it feels almost painful to touch because the skin is cool, clammy, nervous against his own heat. "You're lying," he growls. It startles him. Dean has never been one to assert his inner alpha dominance over someone else. He never lost a fight but he never started one either.  
  
"I assure you-" the man tries again.  
  
"Don't lie to me." Dean stares into the azure eyes before him. They look like glittering crystals, like the ocean before it was filled with litter, like the sky before it was clouded over with a layer of smog.  
  
"I'm sorry," gravel whispers, slow and cautious, "but you are mistaken."  
  
Dean reaches his other hand out and he touches the stubble coated cheek of the foreign man. "Tell me your name."  
  
"Castiel." He doesn't look scared but Dean can sense that he is. His skin is slippery with sweat but it's far too cold for it to be due to the weather.  
  
"Castiel," Dean repeats. It tastes like silk on his tongue and it feels heavy in his mouth like it belongs there. "Your eyes are very blue. Your mouth is very pink. You don't look like any beta I've ever seen. You're too..." Dean closes his eyes. He breathes deeply. His senses are assaulted all over again by the words and feelings. "Beautiful," he settles on.  
  
The man does nothing more than produce a tiny breathless noise. It's like nothing Dean has even heard before. It sounds joyful, surprised, and oddly aroused all without lasting more than a second. "Betas come in many varieties. I believe whatever toxin you've chosen is impacting your senses in a way you don't understand."  
  
Dean thinks he may be right until Dean realizes he hasn't put any kind of drug or drink into his system in years. He used to drink heavily until one time he was full of the stuff and he went into his first and only rut since presenting when he was fifteen. It had been the only horrible experience of his life brought on by his own foolish antics and he had never so much as looked in the direction of anything that could alter his mental state again since.  
  
"You're like the things old books are about. A fantasy. Are you an angel? A fairy? Tell me!" Dean's getting anxious now.  
  
"Let go of me," Castiel whines, yanking his wrist hard. He's no match for Dean's steel grip though. "Those things aren't real. That's why they're called fantasies!"  
  
"Are you an..." Dean's trailing off again. He's doing a lot of that today. His tongue feels foreign in his mouth. His mind appears to have short circuited and whatever he's going to say next is going to be a surprise even to him. It's another word coming that he sees only on paper now. It's another fantasy that doesn't exist. Hasn't for nearly as long as he's been alive. This creature looks young, maybe twenty-five if Dean were to guess. Too young to be what his tongue is trying to form. "Are you an omega?"


	4. Finding Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean needs to find out the truth, by any means necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in a day. Whaaaa? We're going to see the story take a turn here.  
> In case you notice some spelling things that look incorrect just a heads up I am Canadian and we spell things differently here.  
> Warning warning! Non-con elements.  
> No actual rape of any kind. Some minimal molesting.

This Castiel creatures eyes go from their glowing blue to a dull color. His pink lips are grey. He's fading before Dean's eyes.  
  
"No," he says, "omegas don't exist. They've all died out."  
  
Dean forgets about the bar then. He grabs the man around his waist and lifts him like he weighs nothing. He's an alpha, he's strong. He hauls this man like he might be a toddler.  
  
"Stop," the man begs, "please! Where are you taking me? I'm not an omega. You don't know what you're saying! Put me down, put me down!"  
  
Dean winces as fists pound at his back. "I'm sorry," he says as they reign down against him, furious but futile. "I have to find out."  
  
"Find out?" It's shrill, it's horrified. It comes with pounding fists turning into animal like claws. They shred through Dean's shirt and they tear layer after layer of skin off his back.  
  
By the time Dean makes it to his home he can feel his back is sticky with blood and the body he carries is much heavier now. The man has passed out from his own efforts.  
  
When Dean closes the door he locks it. He lives alone here but no home is safe to leave open to the public. He sets Castiel across the couch as gently as possible and goes into his kitchen, then his bedroom.  
  
When Dean returns it's with water and a new shirt. The water is for his unwilling guest and the clothing is for himself. He changes. He waits.  
  
_____  
  
"You're awake," Dean says two hours later.  
  
The omega hasn't moved and it's breathing hasn't changed but Dean knows.  
  
"You're awake," he repeats. He's telling this Castiel this time that he's not fooled.  
  
"Yes," the other man finally grunts out. He sits up in slow motion, like his limbs feel too heavy for him. He appears surprised to see Dean sitting in a chair so far away from him. "Please," he starts again.  
  
"I'm not going to hurt you." Dean lays his fingers, easy and open, on his knees. "If you're not an omega all you need to do is prove it to me."  
  
This Castiel man tilts his head, confused, and Dean feels something like hunger clench his gut as he witnesses the gesture. It's innocence makes his body feel older.  
  
"How?"  
  
"Show me."  
  
Again, "how?" Nervous this time.  
  
"Alphas have knots. Betas have nothing unique. Omegas have-" Dean cuts off and his eyebrows come together in a frown. "They _produce.._." He can't make the word appear in his mouth. "So if you're not an omega take your clothes off and touch yourself and I'll know."  
  
Castiel wraps his arms around himself tightly. "I can't do that."  
  
Dean leans forward in his chair, fingers clamping down just a little. "Why not?" It's as if he's about to be let in on the most exciting secret imaginable.  
  
"Because I can't get aroused trapped in someone's house. You're an alpha, a stranger. I won't be able to- to _perform_." Castiel looks away on the last word, ashamed.  
  
Something about it seems off to Dean. He watches the man for several moments before it clicks. "You don't know how." He's shocked.  
  
Castiel stiffens. He inhales too sharply.  
  
"It's okay," Dean tells him, tender, "I can show you."  
  
Castiel's eyes flare wide and he's shaking his head but Dean is already on his feet now, arms outstretched as an offer.  
  
"Come on, stand up, come here," he's saying, too quickly, and the man is nearly flailing when he grips Dean's hands and raises to his feet unsteadily.  
  
"Please," he whispers, eyes locked onto Dean's and something in Dean knows this is wrong. He's scaring this man but something stronger is telling him that he needs to do this.  
  
"I won't hurt you," Dean tells him once more.  
  
Castiel doesn't move so Dean takes it upon himself to undress him. It isn't strictly necessary to remove everything the other man is wearing but Dean's heart races at the prospect of seeing all the skin hidden away.  
  
First he slips him out of the beige over coat, Castiel not fighting him but remaining limp as though he were a rag doll. Dean is patient and gentle though as he goes about this process. Next is a blazer. Next is a button down dress shirt. Every button becomes harder than the last to get undone as Dean's fingers shake.  
  
Castiel is shaking too under the unwanted attention and it's making the brown of the buttons on the white of the shirt jump around erratically. Dean lets out a breath that says _success_ when the last one is freed. He drops the garment off the slender shoulders of the man before him and his cock gives an interested twitch at the sight of skin so pristine it looks as though it's never seen daylight and nipples so pink, petite, and hard, that Dean feels like he needs to wrap his mouth around them to soothe them with a velvet tongue.  
  
"I'm not going to hurt you," Dean repeats.  
  
"Please," Castiel repeats. "Stop."  
  
Dean presses on though. He frees a belt and he unzips a fly and then, both hands against sharp hips, he pushes down. He drops to his knees and lifts one of Castiel's sock clad feet away from the pile of clothing before he repeats the motion with the other leg and Dean stays there. His fingers are draped around the back of Castiel's calf, the muscles tight as though they've been put through strenuous exercises.  
  
"Please," Castiel whimpers, "please just stop."  
  
Dean looks up from where he's lowered and Castiel is pointedly looking away as his body goes through a wave of tremors.  
  
Dean stands again, holds Castiel's face in both of his large and calloused hands. "I won't hurt you." His mantra.  
  
His hands fall away from the face as if the tears that stream along his fingers are acidic. They burn him and Dean still aches for this man. "Don't be scared. Please. I'm just going to show you how."  
  
"I know how," Castiel murmurs, "I swear. I'm a beta. I'm a beta!" His arms fly up, his nails digging deep into Dean's upper arms. He shakes him wildly, tries to will some sense into him.  
  
"You're too beautiful to be a beta." Dean sounds apologetic but it still doesn't stop him. He looks at the limp cock that lays nestled in a tangle of coarse black hair. "I'm sorry." Dean's mouth feels dry when he wraps a hand around the flaccid penis in front of him. It doesn't react. Doesn't twitch, doesn't raise, doesn't do anything but look tired and empty in his palm.  
  
"What's your name?" Castiel blurts and it pulls Dean from his trance. His eyes find Castiel's again.  
  
"Dean."  
  
"Dean." Castiel makes a face like he's tasting the name. "Dean?" His fingers are painfully tight where they pierce Dean's skin. "Dean, there are no omegas. Everybody knows that. You can still stop. You've just made a mistake."  
  
Dean frowns. He looks away, down, back to the dead thing in Castiel's lap. "You aren't an alpha." He seems to be steadying himself with the comment and then his fists closes. Not too tight, just a comfortably loose loop. He moves it to the base, fingers partially hidden in the hairs before it goes the opposite direction, head of it still hidden beneath the foreskin.  
  
"I'm a beta," Castiel argues. It sounds broken and Dean for a second nearly stops but he wants to see. His hand tightens ever so slightly, just enough force to pull the skin back, and it exposes a beautifully deep coloured cock-head. _Red_ Dean thinks. He remembers thinking of the colour when the word _body_ overtook him in the alleyway and how it feels so long ago now when in reality it was so recently.  
  
Dean feels like he's aged a decade in a few hours. Dean also feels like a teenager again like the first time he knew he was an alpha, cock swollen and leaking and needy. That feeling over takes him and his hand starts to work at a tragic rhythm. So tedious in its pace because Dean has an overwhelming need to memorize every last millimetre of what he holds.  
  
The fingers in his shoulders twitch weakly and loosen the smallest increment. "Dean," Castiel says weakly, his voice strained, "you have to stop."  
  
Dean shakes his head sadly. Nothing is happening. The cock still lays limp and when Dean scents the air there's nothing to indicate omega arousal. "I'm sorry," he hears himself saying. He's a million miles away. He was so certain. He's so ashamed. "I was sure."  
  
Castiel breathes out shakily. "It's okay," he lies. His hands slump, freeing Dean, and Dean can't help himself so he gives one last feeble tug. His fingers graze the flushed head, one moving slowly over the slit before it drops off.  
  
Castiel hisses when it happens. His cock still isn't erect, only reacts now with the smallest jump at the sensation against the over sensitive head. Dean is taken over then by a sudden assault. Castiel has shoved him to the ground and he looks up in stunned silence.  
  
"I'm so sorry," he yelps. Words rise on his tongue and die at his lips, begging this stranger to forgive his temporary insanity.  
  
Castiel bends over, rushed, trying to gather his clothes and the moment he does Dean is assaulted again in an entirely new way.  
  
He moans, the sound filthy. Dean slams the heel of his hand into his crotch, willing the sudden growth there to dissipate.  
  
"Oh fuck." Castiel stands abruptly and mimics Dean's actions. Instead of his lap, though, a palm slaps loudly against his backside.  
  
"Oh _fuck_ ," Dean growls. A new word slams into his chest and rips from his lips.  
  
_"Slick."_


	5. How Do You Exist?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean learns about Castiel and tries to think of a way to help him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback please and thanks! You're all the greatest.

"Stay back," Castiel warns. He's given up on his clothes and has backed into the furthest corner of the room.  
  
Dean hustles to his feet, fingers splayed wide. "I won't hurt you," he says for what feels like the hundredth time that afternoon.  
  
Castiel scoffs, eyes fixed on Dean's engorged lap. His pants strain, ready to burst. Dean shamefully covers himself with the nearest thing he can find. A cushion from the couch that he holds awkwardly over his lower half.   
  
"Please, I mean it. I won't touch you again." Dean shuffles along, never turns away from Castieluntil he can find the chair he'd begun this eventful transaction in. "Sit," he begs, "please?" A hand addresses the couch and Castiel eyes it but doesn't move.  
  
"If you don't move and allow me to get my clothes I'll answer your questions."  
  
Dean nods rapidly. He sits on his fingers, a childish gesture that he views as a promise not to touch.  
  
Castiel is his mirror, shuffling, never breaking eye contact. He dresses fast but haphazard. He doesn't bother with his belt and misses a few buttons on his shirt but he's covered again, scent tampered with. He sits.  
  
"How do you exist?" Dean's eyes are wide and amazed.  
  
Castiel shrugs, eyes fixated on his hands that are now folded in his lap.  
  
Dean frowns. "Okay." Slowly. "Where are you from?"  
  
Castiel, again, shrugs. Dean growls. "Canada," Castiel answers in a squeak.  
  
Dean laughs at this. He nods, answer accepted. "Do you have any family?"  
  
Castiel shakes his head and Dean sees his shoulders slump just a fraction. "I'm sorry," he offers softly, "how did you end up here?"   
  
Castiel sucks in a deep breath, the story obviously long and tiring, but all he says is "It's not safe for me to stop moving".  
  
Dean feels as though he's been punched in the gut. What a tragic life. "How old are you?"  
  
"Twenty-seven." As though he's reading Dean's mind he follows that up with "I presented at eighteen".  
  
Dean realizes that this man has spent nearly ten years of his life on the run from alphas who behave just like he did and the guilt is all consuming.   
  
"Don't do that," Castiel murmurs and Dean fixes him with a questioning gaze. "Don't... Feel bad. I can feel it and-and-"  
  
Dean shifts in his seat, leaning forward. "You can feel my emotions?" He's impressed but baffled.  
  
"Yes." Castiel sits up straighter. "It's the only reason I produced any-" he clears his throat and his ears turn a delightful shade of pink that Dean wants nothing more than to feel against his hands, warm reactions from such a cool body. "I could sense your arousal."  
  
Dean moves the cushion, hazards a glance at his lap and snorts. "Yeah, I think the whole block could sense that," he jokes. It does nothing to alleviate the tension. Instead, Castiel's forced smile looks more like a wince. "How do you exist?" He asks again.  
  
"Well my mother and an alpha mated, and I was raised until I was sixteen under the close watch of doctors and the alpha who bred with my mother. She watched me too, until she died. When I still hadn't presented I was deemed a beta and released. Two years later, my first heat occurred. I have been in hiding ever since."  
  
Dean takes a moment to absorb it all and he breaks a rule then. He gets up, he moves swiftly, and he's kneeling before Castiel in seconds flat, hands held tight over the slender ones of the other man.  
  
Castiel tries to pull away, startled, but Dean's grip is too firm. It's also too full with emotion and it seems to drain Castiel to feel Dean's apology washing over him. "It's okay," he mutters, uncertain if he's prepared to believe that or not. "I need you to let me go though. You can't tell anyone about me. I-I don't want to hurt you but I will if I have to."  
  
Dean's eyes soften and they grow amused. A laugh makes the green of them seem to quiver. "You can't hurt me. I know that omega's have to- _wait_. I thought omega's couldn't defy an alpha? I used my alpha voice in the alley."  
  
Castiel shrugs but there's the tiniest smirk at the right corner of his mouth. "Maybe I'm a new breed."  
  
It's meant as a joke but Dean feels full to the brim with hope. "Could you be?" Before Castiel can answer him he's bolted upright, tugged him up too, and their hands are still joined but Dean's shake with glee while Castiel's are clammy and shake with anxiety. "We should get you to a doctor! They could-"  
  
"No!" Castiel pulls back desperately, lets his body be a dead weight as it sags away from Dean. Dean stumbles a step forward but catches them both easily, keeps them both upright.  
  
Dean grimaces as Castiel struggles against him. "Stop it!" he bellows.  
  
Castiel does, but he pleads, "they'll treat me the same as the rest. They'll breed me until I die. I'm a male, Dean! I won't survive long. They have to cut us open to get the pups out. Are there even still doctors who know how to do that? Perform such surgeries? _I'll die, Dean_."  
  
Dean nearly collapses. He feels weakened just to hear it. "You can't," he whispers, and Dean is keenly aware of his age. He can't fight off younger, bigger alpha's like he did in his twenties. He feels compelled to protect this man though. He also knows that no omega could fight off an alpha of any age. They're simply too weak.   
  
Dean makes a decision then. "You can't be on your own for forever," he tells Castiel, "you need protection. I can protect you. You can stay here with me. My brother, Sam, he's a good man. He'll help us."  
  
Castiel wants to fight. Castiel wants to run as he's spent all of his adult life doing despite his feet being tired and sore. He feels the need coming from Dean, warm and honest and begging to help him. He nods once, slowly. "Okay." Dean perks up instantly. "But-" he drops again, waiting. "You can't tell this Sam about me. It's rare someone can smell me so easily. In fact, you're the only person to ever smell me so strongly that you could track me." He hesitates a second and they both wonder what that means. "I need to know that I can trust him."  
  
"Do you trust me?"   
  
Castiel's eyes dance around the room, looking at everything and looking at nothing. He thinks long and hard about his answer.  
  
"Yes," he finally decides. He doesn't want to admit to himself why that is or how it's possible. 


	6. Meet Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Sam Winchester (Like Meet Joe Black).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone gets on me about Fallout I am fully aware it's set in the future but it has this retro-future thing going on where it happened after the atomic blasts of WW2 (alternate history of course), see the bomb boys and a-bomb education from that era for parallels! I wanted to cite Dean playing Wasteland, which is what Fallout is the successor of, but in this story Dean is his age, or what he would be in the year 2020 (41) and a game that came out in '97 seemed more realistic and attainable than a game from '88 based on that age.  
> As you can tell if you read this I'm a video game fan. This story is actually the blending together of three video games and a movie in my mind.  
> Go try Fallout. Also thank you so much to the people that got this story to break 1000 views last night. It warms my cold, dead heart.  
> Enough rambling. Feedback is super loved.

Dean has a car. He loves his car. It's black, it's big, it's old. It fits in with the way the world has gone. He remembers a video game called _Fallout_ that feels all too realistic in his life. Post apocalypse, everybody's just trying to get by, and the world's a messy place but it's sort of set in the 50's and there's all these beautiful classic cars and Dean looks back on it now and how the real world started to go into a tail spin around the same time the atomic bomb hits in the video game and it's almost serendipitous.  
  
His house is nothing special. Nothing is something special anymore. He keeps little furniture in it and nothing personal around. All the furniture is aging and each piece makes it own unique noises to express its life. No one really runs businesses anymore unless it's arms dealing, drug dealing, or a bar. Nothing is new anymore. It's as if the world collectively decided to say "fuck it, lets let the world go to shit" when the population started to decrease.  
  
It's poorly lit and he keeps the heat low. An alpha like Dean doesn't need much heat anyway. He produces it all on his own. He could allow it to be more lived in if he wanted to but that brings the risk of intruders. People coming to take over the space, destroy it a little more and make it a nest of their own. Everyone lives a transient lifestyle now.  
  
So Dean keeps a low profile in a very ordinary house in a very ordinarily run down neighborhood. He keeps the car dirty despite how it pains him so that it looks like nothing special. He even personally dented a bumper or two so that people wouldn't think it was worth stealing. So far, it's been enough.  
  
The only thing to give the house away as being lived in consistently is the lack of dust. There is no layer of it on everything like there would be in the next building over. Dean is happy to take pride in the little things and the fact he has managed to stay in his his home successfully (mostly) for so long is something not many can say.  
  
His brother, Sam, has stayed in New York as long as Dean has but he constantly has a new dwelling. He thinks it's smarter, thinks it's safer. You never know when some pissed off, strung out alpha is going to break through the door and take you down. Dean isn't afraid, though. If it's his time, it's his time, he figures.  
  
______  
  
Castiel sits on the couch, Dean beside him. They're not touching, not too close. Give nothing away, he told Dean. Don't act protective.  
  
Sam arrives with a gun tucked into the waist of his pants. It's obvious, it's stark. It's black against his white wife beater, done to look menacing. A plaid shirt is unbuttoned and floating around his broad frame.  
  
"Sammy," Dean greets happily. He stands from the couch and wraps the taller man in a brisk one armed hug. "You look good."  
  
Sam nods, on the alert. "You too," he says cautiously, "who's this?"  
  
"Ah!" Dean sits down again and the couch springs squeal beneath him. "This is Cas. He's passing through town. Needed a place to crash."  
  
Castiel doesn't let on that this nickname is new. He's impressed with Dean, acting like they're some form of old friends. He smiles easily at Sam. It's practiced now, this pretending he's just some run of the mill beta.  
  
"Nice to meet you." For a second, Castiel is sure he sees Sam's nose twitch but then he takes the chair adjacent to the couch. He throws his feet up on the battered wooden coffee table. It groans under the weight, strains to stay in one piece.  
  
They talk like a group of friends who have much catching up to do after a long time apart.  
  
_____  
  
The conversation goes easily. Goes normally. Dean doesn't mention what Castiel is and Sam doesn't appear to notice anything is amiss. Castiel promises Dean he'll think about telling Sam he's an omega and letting him help after a good nights rest.  
  
That evening, Castiel falls asleep easier than he has in a long time. The roof over his head is sturdy and safe. The body sleeping on the couch in the living room is solid and Castiel has not been in a real bed in years so he sinks into it, overjoyed.  
  
His sleep is broken too soon though when he hears voices downstairs. It's still dark and he had fallen asleep late in the evening. He raises from the bed, up on his toes as though it will prevent the house from making a sound.  
  
Thankfully, the house appears to be one of his allies. He even manages to twist the door open without the hinges complaining. Silently, Castiel crouches. He has spent much of his life listening carefully to things not meant for his ears so Castiel does not struggle to hear the dialogue happening just down the stairs from him.  
  
Suddenly, he doesn't feel so safe here.  
  
"No way, Sam," Dean is whispering, angry.  
  
"Dean don't you get it? Don't you understand what this means?"  
  
"No, Sam. _You_ don't get it."  
  
There's the sound of feet moving, heavy, toward the door. "You should go," Dean is saying.  
  
"Are you crazy?" Sam sounds scandalized. "They could test him! He could have some genetic abnormality. He looks so young. They could breed him! Dean, he could save all of us."  
  
There's a slamming sound and then what Castiel assumes if the coffee table cracking and creaking and splitting where something has hit it. "Goddammit Sammy!" Dean yells and Castiel knows it had been his foot that kicked it heavily and destroyed it.  
  
Back to whispering now, Dean continues: "what the fuck's wrong with you? He's a human being, not a lab rat."  
  
"Yeah, but he's an _omega_. He's not one of us." A pause. "This is incredible. How can you be so selfish?"  
  
"Selfish?!" Dean gives up on the quiet voice now. "How can you be so heartless?"  
  
"That's what they were made for, Dean! You could save lives here."  
  
"That's not my choice to make. It's Cas's."  
  
A scoff. A shattering lamp. "You need to turn him in!" Sam sounds like he's snarling and Castiel wants to flee this house. He can't be around when an alpha fight goes down. The increased hormones will send one or both of them spiraling down into a lustful, hateful place. Castiel knows this because he has narrowly escaped this situation before. He's seen others not escape it.  
  
"Sam," Dean says, and it's the strongest a voice has ever sounded and Castiel's stomach churns at the way that makes him feel. "I won't let some stranger fuck him, and poke him, and prod him, and then kill him. That's what they did with all the rest and where did we end up? The fucking world's ending here, Sammy. One omega ain't gonna change that. It's too late. Let him die in peace like the rest of us."  
  
A growl, crunching sounds as someone steps through the shards of glass from the lamp.  
  
"You don't want to turn him in, Dean? Fine. I will. He's an omega. He's supposed to be bred."  
  
A door slams and Castiel doesn't know if he should pretend he was asleep or go to Dean.  
  
Dean makes the decision for him. "You smell like alcohol tastes," he says from the living room.  
  
Castiel takes the steps slowly, avoiding the weakest looking spots, until he's standing just a few feet behind Dean who is fixated on the mess the room has become. He reaches a tentative hand forward, wants to offer a comforting gesture, but it falls back to his side before it makes it to its destination.  
  
"What do you mean?" He tries instead.  
  
"Strong. Burning. But also..." Dean turns, his face a lopsided smile, "like when you're drunk. Too good, can't stop, fun and dizzying."  
  
Castiel blushes. His ears, cheeks, and neck turning a rose colour. When Dean sniffs the air loudly Castiel turns crimson. "You know," he murmurs, "you smell too."  
  
Dean perks up at this, "yeah?"  
  
Castiel nods. "Like..." His nose twitches when he inhales the aroma. "Like how the air smelled when I was young and they let us outside. Crisp and clean. Like a forest. Like safety. Like-" Castiel tenses, his voice lowers, "like my mom. Like family." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live a sober lifestyle. Sorry if the alcohol thing doesn't make sense. It's my guess based on what I'm told. Same for the drug reference in an earlier chapter. Really any mention of bad stuff is speculation.


	7. Run, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby saves the day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Baby's 50th birthday today.  
> Here's a chapter where she's the greatest car.  
> Thank you to all the people who clicked kudos and broke 100+ of those!  
> In honor of Baby, Kudos, and 2 1/2 more hours of my tattoo being done I'm gonna do everything I can to get two chapters posted today.  
> Feedback is loved and cherished.

Dean loves his brother. He knows that's strange since they're both alpha's and his younger brother Sam is bigger, faster, stronger. Despite all this Dean loves him fiercely.  
  
Sometimes, though, he wonders what happened to that little brother he loved and grew up beside. Sam always seemed like the more put together of the two but three nights after their conversation when Castiel and Dean are ripped from their slumber by the sound of glass shattering and aggravated voices yelling obscenities Dean knows that this is Sam's doing.   
  
Castiel sleeps in the only change of clothes he has despite Dean's numerous offers of more comfortable attire. When Dean opens the bedroom door to find Castiel alert and ready to run he understands why. He doesn't have the time to wish he'd been more prepared.  
  
His fingers wrap around Castiel's wrist and he knows his grip is painfully tight when he starts pulling the smaller man through the quaint, desolate home. Dean wishes he could mourn the loss of it but that will have to wait for another day. He's throwing Castiel into the back seat of the vehicle, trench coat thrown over his figure like a shield.   
  
"Stay as flat as you can," he orders from the front seat.  
  
There's too many noises coming from inside the house, too much anger that it's empty and Dean hopes the creaks and groans of the garage door opening will be drowned out by the ears that search for him and his companion. He counts to ten, eyes squeezed shut. The door is suddenly far slower than Dean remembers. In fact, it doesn't appear to be moving at all anymore.  
  
It's only half way up when the door that connects the garage to the house swings open so fast one of its hinges goes flying off, and the pinging noise it makes when it hits the side of the Impala is like a spur digging into the hip of a horse. It tells Dean go. _Now._  
  
He steps on the gas and throws an arm over his eyes, driving blind. The Impala slams into the partially opened door, wood splintering away as it explodes outward. The sound of metal pieces screaming as they drag over the car makes Dean's teeth hurt. His whole body quivers as the impact happens and then?  
  
Then Dean remembers why he doesn't mind that it's the end of the world. The car is out and hardly worse for wear. It's soaring down the rain slicked road, the engine purring in a way not unlike that of a large cat. "Cas," he hoots, "you see that?" He slaps an excited hand on the steering wheel. "Man, that was like a movie! Ah shit, nobodies getting you today, sweetheart."  
  
Dean doesn't notice the pet name and Castiel tries not to allow himself to notice how it makes him feel to hear it. Dean's laughter is infectious and it brings him out of his hiding place. He manages to slither himself over the back bench seat and into the front one. His body contorts and crunches before it finds the correct position and comes to be sitting upright beside Dean. Perhaps a little closer than is strictly necessary but the adrenaline has filled the car with the stink of many amped-up emotions.   
  
"Thank you, Dean."  
  
"Don't mention it," he says. The joy is draining from him quickly. The only home he's had in many years now lies behind him in ruins. "Really."  
  
"Where will we go?"  
  
"Wherever we need to."  
  
Castiel nods. He shivers beside Dean and, without a word, he shifts himself until he is pressed into the alphas side. He nudges up against it and his nose is chilly where it bumps against Dean's shoulder.  
  
Dean swells with alpha pride. He frees his right arm so that it can wrap around Castiel, cradle his body against him. His heat seeps out and fills the cabin of the car. "Cold?"  
  
"Something like that." Castiel feels something twist inside of him and it brings up words he never thought he'd hear himself saying. "You took care of me," he mumbles.  
  
"I said don't mention it." Dean gives an affectionate squeeze.  
  
"You protected me from your brother, from others. They destroyed your home."  
  
Dean feels too warm as Castiel goes on and he's about to move his arm away, feeling so unlike himself in that moment because he feels shy, of all things. Castiel clings to him though and he can't bring himself to give up the contact. It makes him feel whole.  
  
"You're my alpha," Castiel says, with all the certainty one could possibly muster in life.  
  
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Dean's lucky there is no traffic as the car swerves when he hears the words.  
  
"That's why you can smell me. That's why you could find me. You're my alpha. Dean, you're very special."  
  
Dean laughs, loud and unashamed, "says the only omega ever."  
  
"My mother, I was able to see her in my youth. We all knew our mothers until they would produce their last child. She told me stories of how in the past there were specific mates we were destined to find. She said that there were two people in the world who shared a profound bond that were bound to meet. She told me that when the omegas started dying out it was because of a virus. A vaccine."  
  
Dean listens intently, his eyes fixed on the grey that they drive endlessly into. Street signs hardly stand up anymore and where they do they are covered in graffiti.  
  
"It was supposed to make scents more potent, she told me. It only worked on alpha's though. But they were giving it to all the children anyway. It's what wipes us out, you know. The A-Virus, she called it, because it changed the chemistry in an omega so they wouldn't present. It made the alpha gene so potent omegas just started becoming betas. It's like they never got to be what they were meant to be."  
  
Dean's head buzzes with the knowledge. Could that possibly be true? All children receive vaccines, that's common knowledge. Was there a virus hidden away in them? Could the eradication of omegas be from a virus doctors and nurses knowingly infected children with? Was it done knowingly?  
  
"That's why you're special," Castiel continues, recapturing Dean's attention.  
  
"What's that got to do with me?"  
  
"You must not have been infected."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"You could smell me how I'm supposed to smell to you. I could smell you how you're to smell to me. You smell _right_ , not all amped-up-alpha-stink. I'm not infected with it either, I can't be if I'm an omega."  
  
Dean snorts, suspicious. "Oh? And what do we smell like to each other?"  
  
Castiel's voice is downright sinful. It's like a living thing when it crawls up Dean's spine. It snakes its way into his brain and into his blood and into every last corner of Dean's entire being. He utters only one word but no other word has ever meant more to him.  
  
 _"Soulmates."_  
  
"Wait," Dean says, ruining his own moment, "you could smell me right away too?"  
  
"Yes, Dean. Why do you think I was on my knees when you found me? It was so overwhelming."  
  
"You were tying your shoe!" Dean gapes at him.  
  
Castiel rolls his eyes. "You smelled... wonderful and right but I can't just trust my nose. Who knows what you may have been like, smell or not. I mean, you do remember what you did, right?"  
  
Dean's throat grows tight. He hurt his omega. "I'm sorry, Cas. I couldn't control it. I'll never hurt you again. I-I-"  
  
Castiel pats his knee gently. "I know, alpha, I know." His face turns pink and he smiles, humoured, "I have never squeezed my ass cheeks together so tightly in my life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not especially funny. Did you enjoy the sad attempt at ass humour? Me too. I don't know where people butt their heel into horses. Horses are scary.


	8. Finding A New Place To Call Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel go in search of a new residence and learn a little about each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter as promised. So I wrote Chapter 19 last night and think I'm ramping up to a major climax that's going to take us into the final chapters. Might know by next week how many chapters in total you'll be getting.  
> Feedback keeps me fed.

Dean's alpha instincts tells him to protect Castiel but Dean's logical brain tells him that Castiel knows far more of what the world is like than he does.  
  
Sure, he's seen what's happening. He was born in Kansas and they'd moved a few times but all their shifting around had been before the planet had gotten as bad as it had. So he'd watched it on television, downward spiral that it was becoming. Then, when no one was on TV anymore, he was seeing it on the internet. There were so few functioning towers left that you couldn't get any kind of signal anywhere and then the computers and phones were useless too.  
  
They drive South for several hours. Small towns are now nothing more than structures that have sagged in on themselves with street signs laying in the muddy ditches. There's a gas station or two that Dean stops at, hoping to siphon what may remain. He's lucky. They can keep going with the fuel they manage to gather. In one station they find empty gerry cans in the auto shop that's attached to it. Dean treats it like a beacon of hope that they may be homeless nomads now but they at least have this car as their mobile safe haven.  
  
______  
  
The silence in the car feels easy, like two old friends who find solace in the company of one another. They don't need a rolling dialogue to feel comfortable. Maybe, Dean thinks, that's what having a mate means.  
  
______  
  
At one point Castiel turns on the radio. It squeals and cries out in tones so sharp they make Dean's ear drums quiver. The old knob that controls the frequency is turned this way and that. They eventually find a voice through it. It tells them the end is near. It says we brought it upon ourselves. Dean turns off the radio. Castiel doesn't stop him.  
  
______  
  
They come to a city then. There's a sign ten miles outside of it that says Charleston. Dean doesn't know when they crossed into West Virginia but he knows that they've moved South and West and really, what other direction could they go?  
  
"Ever been here before?" Dean asks.  
  
"No," Castiel answers.  
  
Dean nods. He has questions he wants to ask. He rolls at a slow pace through the city. It looks entirely abandoned but Dean knows that can't be true. Can it? Not yet.  
  
"How do you manage your heats? When are you due?" He finally says, nervous to know the answer. Something in him wants to believe Castiel is pure, like the world angel felt.  
  
"I don't get them. Not anymore. Not really. My first one was..." Castiel sounds like he's a million miles away, or perhaps nine years in the past. "Aggressive," he settles on, "but I was so devastated to know I was an omega that I was ready to die." Dean's throat feels tight. "So I let it run its course. People always say you can die from an untreated heat, but I didn't. It was just a fever I could sweat out like any other. Maybe they aren't as strong as they used to be. Maybe the vaccines made them easier to manage? Side effect of the virus, or something." Castiel shrugs but he continues.  
  
"After the first one I read in medical texts that the next one would come three months later. It came as expected, but then it was four months until the next. Then six. They seemed to space themselves out the more I neglected them. They went from being five days long to being two and now it's been nearly a year since I had one."  
  
Dean feels relieved that Castiel has remained untouched but something in him worries for the ever distancing heats. Is something wrong with Castiel? Will it make him sick? Is his womb rotten? He seems strong, seems determined to survive now. Dean knows a mask is easy to wear in this world though.  
  
_____  
  
They enter Ohio next. Dean is curious as to why they haven't seen any travelers yet so he seeks out Columbus. The gas stations they visit have maps and Castiel directs him along the highways that have developed potholes and cracks.  
  
"Why Columbus?" Castiel wonders.  
  
"Highest population in the state. Has to have people."  
  
_____  
  
Columbus has people in it. They're few and far between but hearts still beat in this city. Dean hopes that the small, abandoned places they've encountered are that way because everyone has sought out a largely populated area, hoping to find some companionship to live out their days.  
  
There's a quaint little Bed and Breakfast at the edge of the city. Or, it used to be quaint. But it's a structure and it looks sturdy. Dean needs a shower. His alpha odour is becoming far too ripe for the Impala's interior.  
  
Castiel is happy to have a place to sleep that isn't the car. He unfolds from the passenger side and stretches, his body feeling larger than it ever has before. All the junk food, processed and fake, at the gas stations they've been indulging in over the past week is making him plump.  
  
Dean finds a tree covered spot to tuck the Impala away. The scratch of branches on the paint feels like a physical wound but sacrifices must be made. What's a little more damage after all she's already been through?  
  
When he opens the trunk to put the now full gerry cans in it so the cabin doesn't stink of gasoline he notices a duffle bag. Dean has never been so excited to see denim and flannel in his life. He's been in his sleep shirt and sweat pants sine they left New York.  
  
Dean breaths in deep and thinks the air doesn't smell so stale here. Something tells him it's going to be a good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy a couple nice little chapters before we get to the drama llama meat of the story.


	9. The Nicest Alpha You'll Meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean lets Castiel know he's appreciated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to the local comic expo this weekend. Ruth Connell will be there! I don't get to meet her, though, sadly.  
> But I do get to meet John Cusack!   
> I feel too excited not to share.  
> I'll try to keep getting a chapter a day up until it's done (not including weekends, they're hectic).  
> Please enjoy this short pile of fluff. It's the last one for a while.

Out of a shower (cold as it may have been) Dean feels refreshed. He's plunked down happily on the large bed. It groaned at the addition of his weight and it groans again when Castiel trots out of the bathroom, hair dripping and stuck to his forehead, and situates himself on it as well. Dean thinks he's never seen anything more appealing in his entire life.  
  
"How are you feeling? Hungry? Tired? I can sleep-"  
  
"Dean," Castiel interrupts. He sits cross legged in nothing but underwear in the middle of the bed. His knee is brushing against Dean's thigh where his legs are stretched out, back propped against the headboard. He reaches a tentative hand out and it falls onto Dean's knee.  
  
"What's up?"  
  
Castiel's fingers move, mere millimeters, up and then back down. His usually lily white skin has a soft pink hue to it that travels all the way down his chest. "I've never had someone care for me before, not really." Castiel looks focused but also confused.  
  
Dean isn't sure what Cas wants him to say so he offers a crooked smile and lifts one arm for Castiel to curl up under.  
  
The invitation is accepted but where Castiel usually lays stiffly at Dean's side he now plants a palm, flat and chilly, against Dean's sternum. It makes Dean shiver from head to toe.  
  
"Cas?" He asks softly, his eyes fixed on the mess of damp black hair.  
  
He doesn't say anything but his hand trails, exploratory, downward until it rests on Dean's belly. The muscles clench of their own accord. The hand spasms in response, drifts farther, comes to rest on top of Dean's cotton clad lap. It's layers away, above the sheet and his underwear.  
  
"Cas?" Dean calls out quietly again. The smaller man tilts his chin up, scans Dean's face. He looks all of sixteen, a terrified virgin trying to initiate an act they don't yet understand. Dean's heart swells behind his ribs when Castiel does nothing but stare at him longingly. "Oh Cas," he breathes out.  
  
"Dean," he breathes back. He cranes upward, strains his long and delicate neck. Dean's hand rushes for his face but cups it almost too tenderly. He's a porcelain doll that Dean is terrified to break.  
  
Their lips meet, Castiel's cracked and dry where Dean's are soft and moist. For a second they don't move, a scene from some bad romance movie, and then Castiel's desperation and inexperience mix together in a cocktail that has Dean's mind reeling and his mouth aching.  
  
"Cas, Cas- slow down, angel."  
  
Castiel reacts like he's been burnt, snapping his body away from Dean. "I'm sorry, I just thought that... You're my _mate_ , Dean. I smell it. You're supposed to want me. You wanted me when you didn't even know what I was." He turns away, arms around himself and clasping tight.  
  
"Hey," Dean whispers. He scoots across the bed until he's situated behind Castiel. His thick thighs box the smaller mans legs in and his arms wrap below where Castiel's own circle over his torso. "I do, I promise." He noses at Castiel's ear, trails feather soft kisses down the side of his neck and onto his shoulder.  
  
Castiel makes a choked off noise. Dean pointedly breathes through his mouth so that he doesn't become taken over by the scents rolling off of Castiel.  
  
"What is it then?"  
  
"Oh Cas," he sighs tiredly. Dean leans his forehead against the back of Castiel's neck, breath hot against the skin between his shoulder blades. "I didn't save you so I could fuck you, or breed you, or mate you."  
  
"You did," he argues, "you saved me because of how I smelled to you."  
  
"I did," Dean concedes, "because you smelled _special_ , Cas. You smell like things that don't exist anymore. You smell like things I only read about in books."  
  
Castiel sighs, his body going boneless so that it sags heavily against Dean's torso. He lets his arms loosen, lets his hands drop to Dean's thighs. "What if I want it?"  
  
"I won't sleep with you, Cas. I mean, I will give you anything you want but I'm not- I can't take you here. Not in this place, not in some dirty bed. You deserve better than that, alright? I will give it to you, all of it, I promise. But not here. Not now."  
  
"Dean, I- Thank you."  
  
"Lets get some sleep."


	10. Columbus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel's travelers take a dark turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! Mildly graphic descriptions of violence/corpses.   
> Warning! Sexual aspect to the violence.  
> If you're triggered by these sorts of things you have been warned!

They stay in Columbus in the bed and breakfast for six days. They've been moving about the city, seeing what they could use to make a life here.  
  
On the sixth day Castiel is outside. He's assessing the backyard, dreaming of how he could cut the overgrown and rotting plants away and let new greenery grow again when Dean comes tumbling out of the door.  
  
He fumbles his way down the steps. The bottom one caves in on his foot but he rips it free with the ease of strength only an alpha can display. Bits of splintered wood cover his denim clad calf.  
  
"Time to go."  
  
"What?" Castiel says and "why?" and "but I like it here."  
  
Dean tells him he's sorry and stalks over to the car.  
  
Castiel, curious as ever, steps toward the house. He gracefully hops over the now ruined bottom step. He hears Dean telling him to stop and not to look but Castiel feels spurred on by the pleas.  
  
Dean may think he needs to protect Castiel but Dean can't begin to fathom the things he's seen. He watched his mother dying in a hospital while she pushed out another pup, another thing tearing out of her, praying to the God's that she wouldn't survive, that she wouldn't be able to be bred again. Castiel remembers how her eyes were grey when they closed for the last time.  
  
It's made him tough, made him stronger than any omega should have to be, and it's prepared him for what he sees inside. It's still agony to look upon the sight but it doesn't harm him in the way it should. Too many women, screaming and bleeding and dying on beds in shabby hospitals, has numbed his response to violence.  
  
The lower level of the house is a disaster. Tables are smashes, furniture is over turned. Castiel steps down the hallway, notes how there's dents in the walls that look remarkably like a fist could fit perfectly in their wake. He presses further. A gasp rips from him when he sees the smear of blood on the floor that flows into the kitchen.  
  
"Cas, don't!" Dean yells from the opposite end of the hallway.  
  
"It's fine," he whispers, brave lies only loud enough for his own ears.   
  
It most definitely is not fine when he turns the corner and sees a body laying on the floor. Too deep bite marks litter the exposed torso. There's angry purple stripes decorating the throat. His eyes lay open, vacant. They're rimmed with red and if Castiel had to venture a guess it's because of blood vessels rupturing and not that of his alpha traits. No, this body looks like that of a beta to Castiel.  
  
"Come on," Dean calls, still far away, "we need to go."  
  
Castiel knows he's right but he can't bring himself to leave this man this way. He crouches, hovers over the corpse. His hand moves lightly over the face, eyes falling closed when his palm rolls over them.  
  
Castiel leaves then. He notes a couple things about this corpse. He sees that there are dark strands of hair clutched in the first that has already grown stiff. Castiel wonders how soon after they left for the day this happened for rigor mortis to have already set in. He also notices that there is dry white streaks painting broken lines up his pant leg that stop near his groin. If Castiel were a betting man he'd put his money on semen.  
  
He's too afraid to look anywhere else and find something worse still. He walks past Dean and straight to the Impala. He sits in the passenger seat and buckles himself into it for the first time. It grounds him.   
  
He wants to ask Dean if he noticed those things too but fear and disgust keep his lips pressed tightly shut when the larger man slides into the drivers side of the vehicle and turns the key over.


	11. Somebody's Watching Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A string of deaths keeps Castiel and Dean moving through the continental United States

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings Warnings.  
> Mildly graphic depictions of corpses, violence, and a sexual component to such abuses.  
> Feedback please and thanks!

So that's how it goes. For months.  
  
They drive into Kentucky. It's August. The weathers comfortable here, not too hot or humid and it seems that it will be comfortable in the Fall as well. Far enough South that the weather won't be too harsh.  
  
They settle in Louisville. They find a nondescript house with a car port. It's perfect. It's in wonderful shape. Dean makes a 'pride of ownership' joke and Castiel laughs for what they both think might be the first time in his life. It's a horrible joke but it's that Castiel has grown to enjoy Dean's terrible sense of humour.  
  
They're there ten days this time. Everything is quiet and peaceful and they've only seen six other people when they come back one evening with new clothes. A store in the mall was locked down, not pillaged yet. Dean was a hell of a lock pick.  
  
The yard in the back is small, shows the same pride of ownership as the rest of the home does. It's overgrown, full of weeds and tree branches too heavy now so they sag toward the ground with the weight of their own spoils (apples, mostly) but everything is alive in that tiny yard.  
  
Everything except the body laying in the centre of it.  
  
Castiel sees it before Dean this time. He spins on his heels and plants firm palms against the alpha's chest. "Stop."  
  
"What?" Dean extends his neck far as he can, tries to peer past Castiel. His minimal height advantage does him wonders. "Jesus Christ, is that- is that barbed wire?"  
  
Castiel doesn't answer him in the traditional sense. Instead, he says, "I'll get our things from inside. Get the car ready."  
  
_____  
  
They drive through the bottom corner of Missouri and into Arkansas. They stay in a motel. It's inconvenient and cramped but it seems safer after their single family dwelling mishaps. They share a bed every night and Castiel comes out of the bathroom, post shower, in nothing but a towel one time. He drops it to the floor, naked for the second time in front of Dean. Dean's arousal makes the whole room stink. He jerks off in the bathroom, much to Castiel's disappointment.  
  
The eighth day is like a sick deja vu. They're rolling into the parking lot, the gravel crunching under the tires, when they see it.  
  
"Oh you have to be fucking kidding me!" Dean slams his hand on the dashboard. Castiel twitches in his seat. His stomach twists uncomfortable and he forces himself out of the car.  
  
"What're you doing?"  
  
"Just get our things, please."  
  
Dean does as he's told but he lets Castiel know how unhappy he is about it.  
  
Castiel, he does what he feels he needs to do. He pries open the eyes on the young woman that is on display just outside their motel room door to see if they look the same as that of the first two corpses. For the first time in many years Castiel feels truly horrified. He forces himself to close the lids again, doesn't want Dean to see the mutilation.  
  
He steels his nerves and proceeds. There's the same white trails splashed across the lower half as the two previous victims. This time, though, it's still damp on the clothes. He sniffs. He recoils. The smell is putrid. It smells of insanity. It smells of sickness. Carefully, Castiel unbuttons the woman's trousers. He's relieved to see no obvious signs of the kind of sexual trauma he expected to see, this body being the opposite gender of the who first two men, but he sees so clearly where ropes burned her wrists. There's red, raw flesh on her ankles too and even across her waist. She'd been restrained long enough to have struggled her skin away in several places.  
  
They decide that night not to unpack wherever they end up next. Dean's not such a happy guy anymore.  
  
_____  
  
  
Dean wants to try something new so they go North West this time, to Kansas. To the city he was born in. They drive by his old house and Dean tells Castiel what it was like. How his mother was beautiful and how she got sick when he was still young. He tells Castiel about how they moved after that, constantly going East, until they settled in New York. Sam was admittedly bitter about their upbringing but he got over it.  
  
They stay several blocks away from the original Winchester home. They stay in a house again. If nowhere is going to be safe for long they might as well be as comfortable as possible.  
  
On the third night Dean's sleep is restless. He thrashes this way and that. Castiel tries to hold him down, tries to calm him to no avail.  
  
"Dean!" He finally yells, palms ice cold on Dean's flushed cheeks.  
  
Dean bolts upright and nearly knocks Castiel down with the force of it. He's gulping for air as though he'd been drowning and sweat rolls steadily down from his temples.  
  
"Dean," Cas says, calm and quiet this time. He strokes Dean's cheek with the pad of his thumb. "You were having a nightmare. Was it about-"  
  
"Yeah," he sighs, "the bodies." Dean's eyes are wet when they meet Castiel's. "I've seen a lot of things but fuck. There's some sickos out there. Who the fuck does that kind of shit? Why?"  
  
"I wish I had answers." He wants to say _there's just one sicko_. He wants to tell Dean _I think someone is following us_ and _someone is playing a game with us_. A sick, sick game. But he doesn't want to sound crazy. He doesn't want to scare Dean. Doesn't want to sound like a skeptic. The signs are obvious to him but if Dean isn't noticing the pattern maybe, Castiel thinks, he's making it up in his own mind based on the life he's always known.   
  
Dean is staring at Castiel, intense. His chest still rises and falls heavily. Castiel thinks he's about to say something crucial with the way his lips part and close over and again. "I'm gonna take a shower" is what comes out instead.


	12. Kansas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel settle in Kansas. Cas has a birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahead.   
> Feedback is love

Kansas becomes a welcome change. They've been there six days and nothing happens.  
  
On the eighth day, no bodies are anywhere.  
  
On day ten, and then twelve, and even fourteen there is not a single corpse in sight.  
  
They let their guards down, but just a little. They let themselves enjoy what small pleasures they can.  
  
On the sixteenth day Castiel tells Dean that it's his birthday.  
  
  
_____  
  
Castiel wakes to something warm and wet against his neck. He's startled and attempts to swing his arms in an attack only to find they are pinned down. Or rather, pinned up, above his head. A large hand holds both his delicate wrists with ease.  
  
"Dean!" He screeches, head slamming from side to side.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Dean chuckles against Castiel's body when it goes still. His grip weakens on Castiel's wrists but the hand remains covering the expanse of them.  
  
"I thought-" Castiel inhales uneasily, exhales with a shuddering laugh. "You scared me."  
  
"Sorry," he lies," wanted to surprise you."  
  
"Colour me surprised," Cas deadpans. "Why?"  
  
Dean's smile is bright where it presses into Castiel's collar. "Happy Birthday," he says and Castiel thinks he understands.  
  
In the few instances that Castiel had tried to seduce Dean the older man had opened his mouth, breathing loudly through it so as not to alter his nose to the smells that over took the air but this time Dean wants his senses assaulted.  
  
His intake of air is sharp against Castiel's throat and it leaves the smaller man shivering. "Smell so good," he murmurs. He opens his mouth, closes it over the space where neck and collar meet. His teeth graze the area and he feels Castiel arch up beneath him, aching for contact. Dean tsks him.  
  
"Needy."  
  
Castiel arches again. "Bite me," he begs, "I want you to mark me. I want to be your mate." His voice is frantic.  
  
Dean musters every bit of willpower he has. "Not gonna bite you."  
  
Castiel wines and his body drops back to the bed.  
  
"You know I'm your mate, Cas. Don't worry. Don't rush it. Some mark ain't gonna change that, okay? We've got all the time left in the world."  
  
Dean laughs at his own joke and Castiel, despite himself, joins in with an exasperated laugh of his own.  
  
Dean moves down Castiel now. His fingers map the smooth plains of his chest and it feels as though he's been waiting a life time to take one of the firm, dark buds into his mouth. When he does, his tongue flicks over the nipple experimentally. Castiel reacts with surprise more than anything so Dean bites down. It's gentle, just a pinch with his teeth.  
  
"Shit," Castiel hisses, and his body is pressing so hard against Dean's it nearly throws him off balance. His hands are no longer above his head. They hold onto Dean's shoulders, anxious but also impatient as he works his way lower.  
  
"Gonna take off your underwear." Dean hesitates, waits for Castiel to tell him he can. The hand that's found his head and grips at is hairtightly is more than enough answer for Dean.  
  
The room already smells of arousal but when Dean slips the thin cotton down and off Castiel's hips it hits him full force. He can't hold back the moan.  
  
Castiel is hard this time, cock flushed and aching. It has the smallest curve upward and Dean knows how the head would feel, smooth and hot, against the roof of his mouth.  
  
"Jesus," he groans, and he props up on his knees so he can shed his own shorts in an awkward shuffle of hips and thighs and calves. Castiel's eyes go wide as they take in the sight. "Don't worry," Dean says, his hand wrapping around the base of his own growing erection, "this is all about you. You're just so fucking perfect. Makes me ache, Cas."  
  
Castiel is bashful, red from ears to chest, but he can't seem to drag his eyes away from Dean's lap. "I was told that alpha's were..." His waves his hands wildly, _"larger_ but that looks like it would split me in two."  
  
Dean forces himself not to picture exactly that. He wills the image of Castiel spread open around him away. He can't find any safe words to say back so he shuffles back on his knees and drops forward again. One of his hands cups the weight of Castiel's sac, rolls his balls around in the space of his palm to feel their size and shape.  
  
Castiel gasps and a his hand returns to Dean's hair. "You're making me wet," he whimpers.  
  
Dean's cock throbs at the words. He nearly falls flat on his face. His forehead lolls and rests against Castiel's thigh instead. "Jesus, that is the hottest thing I've heard in my entire life."  
  
"I'm sorry," he whimpers again.  
  
"Why? Oh my god. It's so hot, babe."  
  
"It's just-" Dean has to look up, has to be able to watch Castiel's face when he speaks again. He tries to look smaller under Dean's intense gaze. "It's embarrassing."  
  
"Oh no, no, no, baby. It's not." Dean reaches a hand between Cas' legs slowly. His fingers move up the back of his thighs and he can feel the slick where it's starting to slide down Castiel's flushed skin. "God," he groans, "you're so fucking wet for me."  
  
Castiel grabs the pillow nearest him and slams it over his face. He whines into it, dramatic, "I'm sorry! I can't help it. I've never been this wet, not even when I was in heat. I'm sorry, Dean. My body knows you're my mate. It-it wants to prepare itself."  
  
Dean has to stop listening or he may cum right then and there. He gently retracts the pillow from Castiel's face. "Watch," he demands, and then he pushes Castiel's legs back and up so the knees are bent and Cas' feet are on Dean's shoulders. His fingers press into the soft flesh of Castiel's virgin ass. He separates the cheeks slowly, like a curtain opening, like the greatest show ever is starting.  
  
That's what it is to Dean when Castiel's puckered pink ring of muscles flutters under the scrutiny.  
  
"Spread your ass for me?"  
  
Castiel obeys easily, his hands covering Dean's to keep him exposed and open for his alpha. "So good," Dean coo's. He nudges his nose against the swell of Castiel's ass before dropping one light kiss on the opening presented so beautifully in front of him. Castiel lets out a strangled noise at the sensation and his body rewards Dean with a fresh pulse of the slippery liquid. Dean can't help himself. He greedily laps it up and Castiel convulses above him with every dart of the velvet tongue against his over sensitive flesh.  
  
"Dean, Dean, Dean," he's chanting. He writhes desperately as Dean's mouth refuses to let up. He could be down there all day, tasting every last drop Castiel has to offer. "More," he begs, "please."  
  
Dean obliges. His hand reaches blindly above him to find Castiel's neglected cock. He strokes it in a brutally fast rhythm but his hands are lubricated wonderfully from the spoils of Castiel's body. It makes the movements all too easy and when Dean decides to use his other hand to press a single finger into Castiel's wanting hole that's all it takes and the man above him is squeezing Dean's head between his thighs, crying out with an over worked throat, and cumming over Dean's hand and onto his own stomach.  
  
He's nearly hyperventilating when Dean pulls off of him and for a second Dean thinks he may just pass out when Castiel shoots up at a rapid pace. His hands are damp with sweat where they'd been holding him open and it makes the fumbled attempt to grip Dean's swollen cock a little less uncomfortable.  
  
"Slow down," Dean coaches. Castiel follows his words like a perfect student. "Wrap your fist like- _yeah_ , oh fuck, Cas, yeah. Just like that. Look at you. You're doing so good, babe."  
  
Dean would be ashamed at how fast his knot fills in if it were anyone else but with Castiel he knows that there's no way to hold himself back.  
  
"It's huge," Cas marvels.  
  
Dean feels proud, straightens his back a little. He wants to impress his omega. He can't fight that base instinct he has to do so.  
  
"Keep going, baby. Use your other hand. Rub my knot. Play with my balls. So good for me." He's a wreck, a forty-one year old man moaning like a cheap  whore while he's getting a very inexperienced hand job. Castiel is a quick learner though and it feels so good for Dean to have this mans first attempts wrapped around him.  
  
"I'm close, Cas. Just needs a little- use your slick."  
  
Castiel's motions stagger for a moment, shy again, before he reaches between his own legs and swipes his hand through the mess that coats the backs of his thighs. The hand returns quickly, grips a little tighter. Castiel's eyes are fixated on Dean's cock.  
  
Dean has to hold Castiel's sides to steady himself. They're both up on their knees, both shaking like a couple of virgins sharing their first orgasms. "Shitshitshit." Dean slides one of his hands up to Castiel's neck and drags him in for what starts as a passionate kiss but quickly falls apart when Dean's body stutters and he's cumming, hot and thick, over the bedding below and onto Castiel and even a little on himself because Castiel's hand hasn't stopped moving and it's smearing cum down the length of Dean. "That's it," he purrs, mouth still on Cas', "keep stroking. Milk me, baby. Get all of your alpha's cum. Get it all out, get it all over yourself."  
  
Dean figures he should be ashamed to be talking the way he is but he can hardly remember the words leaving his lips five seconds after they do. It's all too good after so long without. It's all so special to know it's his (and only his) mate that's milking his cock for all it's worth.  
  
"I think I love you," Castiel whispers when they lay down in the sticky mess that is their bed.  
  
"I know," Dean answers, and he feels Castiel's body crumple against his, dejected. His eyelashes flutter against Castiel's shoulder. "I know I love you," he corrects. "Happy Birthday, my omega."   
  
All is perfect in Kansas on that sixteenth night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I hate stories with 'I love you' coming too soon too. All shall be explained in a later chapter.


	13. Enjoying The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel spend their Fall together in Kansas.   
> Warnings apply here again. Violence, implied non-con, corpses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So John Cusack is a dick. Kristain Nairn is super nice. Adorable giant in person. Today is a sad day where my best friend had to make a choice between our plans (made first) for a concert or plans for travel with her fiance in September. I am disappointed in her. I needed to bitch about this, apparently, to strangers. Mostly because I know she won't see it.

On day seventeen, Castiel is still on a high from the experience. He ambushes Dean in the shower. They're pressed close together under the cool water with Castiel's hand pumping furiously and Dean's finger working in and out of Castiel's hole.  
  
_____  
  
Day twenty they let their guards down even more. They both start to believe this could become a more permanent location for them.  
  
_____  
  
Day twenty-seven they hear a car. They see it roll slowly down the street from a ducked down location in a second story window.  
  
It passes without stopping. They breath twin sighs of relief.  
  
_____  
  
Day thirty Castiel asks Dean to bite him again, to celebrate a month in the home. Dean tells him no. He bends him over a counter in the kitchen and eats every last drop of slick Castiel gives him. He gets a second finger just past the flushed ring of muscles before Castiel cums, squeezing so tight that Dean's fingers are forced out. Castiel tries to give Dean a blow job. Dean is cumming on his cheek after a few innocent little licks just from the sight of him.   
  
_____  
  
It's October and the threat of Winter looms. When the wind blows the breeze is cooler every time. They start to block off windows any way they can to keep the air out.  
  
Castiel stays close to Dean's intense heat. It flares like a flame whenever it feels the need to protect the omega. Castiel uses it like a damsel in distress.  
  
They cuddle on the filthy couch. A spring is poking into Dean's left calf but he doesn't mind as Castiel showers him with lazy, loving kisses. Castiel tells him he knows he loves Dean and promises him it isn't because of their primal bond.  
  
Dean thinks it is. He thinks it's also because all they have left is each other. He thinks it's because they've lived through terrible things together now. Dean knows he loves Castiel. If Dean's honest with himself, it's for the same wrong reasons as Castiel loves him.  
  
Day thirty-eight ends with them heaped on their couch sharing their body heat.  
  
_____  
  
They still never go anywhere alone. Dean won't allow it.   
  
On Halloween, Dean remarks that there must be some candy somewhere and demands that they go in search of it.  
  
When they come back from their expedition, bellies filled with treats and more of it dumped into the Impala for later, their jovial attitudes sour. The candy turns to lead in their stomachs.  
  
"No," Dean whispers. He grows angry, so angry his eyes start to change from their beautiful emerald shade to a red that far too closely resembles that of the blood on the face of their living room couch.  
  
"Dean," Castiel purrs, soothes, hand petting his chest in gentle circles, "it's okay. Calm down. It's okay. Relax. Baby, baby, relax. Go outside, okay? Go upstairs. I'll handle this. I can handle this."  
  
It goes on for too long. It makes Castiel uneasy to have seen Dean's first fit of alpha rage. He knew it would come at some point, it always does, but that hasn't stopped him from hoping it wouldn't. He's relieved it wasn't directed at him.  
  
When Dean is gone and Castiel has calmed himself he moves until he's standing close enough to the body to touch it. There are no words to describe the face. He stares and stares. It's brutalized, but there's a scary softness to the way it's been done.  
  
Dean comes back into the room while Castiel is still staring hard and he says something so accurate from over his shoulder it makes the situation feel that much worse. It's bitter, spit like venom; "looks like they made love to her face with a box cutter."  
  
Castiel hears Dean gag and heave beside him. The smell of bile and candy is a vile one. Dean leaves again after that with a choked out apology.  
  
Castiel notices the body is in a skirt this time. The first one not in pants. He leans over and sees where white is still sitting in pearls on the panties. His body jumps with the knowledge that this intruder, this hunter, was here just moments before they returned.  
  
He feels sick too but he swallows thickly around the burn of vomit that threatens to escape his throat. He knows why Dean said box cutter- one is buried deep between the breasts of this corpse. It's too deep within her chest. Castiel doesn't want to remove the object but he knows he has to. He sees that at the base of it, crumpled between the swells of her skin, is a punctured piece of paper. A note.  
  
"Dean," he calls, "I need your help." The strength of an alpha is required to dislodge the tool from between her busted in ribs.   
  
Dean is reluctant when he returns. He looks away when he grips the handle tightly. It makes a squelching noise in the blood and bone when he withdraws it and Castiel gently plucks the piece of paper off of the decaying body.  
  
Something tells Castiel their nemesis is not coming back, not today. That they have time to pack up their lives again. That they have time to read these words here and now. That's all part of this game, he thinks.  
  
So he reads.  
  
 _"Did you enjoy your vacation? I was busy tying up loose ends elsewhere. Sorry I had to keep you waiting. I see you got very comfy in my absence. You're a good little investigator, Castiel. Did you tell Dean about the little riddle I left you last time?"_  
  
Dean cuts in then, "what're they talking about?"  
  
He ignores him to keep reading. _"Are there colours in the dreams of the blind?"_ Castiel feels the wave of nausea again.  
  
"Cas?" Dean says, slow and questioning with a hint of anger.  
  
"The- the body at the motel."  
  
"What about it? Jesus, what aren't you telling me?" Angrier.  
  
"It had it's eyes... removed."  
  
Dean throws his hands over his face, scrubs one through his hair harshly. Tugs. "Oh Holy Christ, Cas!"  
  
Castiel's fingers shake so hard against the paper he's afraid he may rip it apart.  
  
He reads anyway. _"Do you think that black counts?"_  
  
"Oh God," Dean is moaning, and, "this is just sick. Don't read that Cas, don't read it."  
  
Castiel turns his back to Dean to finish, reads it in a hushed tone as if that makes it easier.  
  
 _"I've been watching. Dean isn't much of an alpha, is he? Can't protect you very well. I keep getting in and you're the one acting brave. You're the one who can handle it, aren't you Castiel? I've enjoyed playing with you so far. I promise to pick up the pace. Regards, The Red Death."_  
  
Dean rips the paper out of Castiel's hands, indignant. "I'm not a good alpha?!" He scoffs and his eyes scan the letter, looking for the offensive statement but the more he looks at it the more his face changes from his righteous upset to terrified recognition. "I know this writing." He jabs the paper hard with his finger. "I mean, I think I do. It looks familiar."  
  
He looks at it for five solid minutes, over and over every line again and again but he can't make it click. Castiel finally takes the paper back from him, folding it up small. "It's time to go," he whispers sadly.  
  
Dean's face falls. He is a bad alpha. He is letting his omega down. He thought they were safe here, thought they'd just had bad luck but now he knows otherwise. Knows they were being toyed with. How could he have been so oblivious?  
  
He misses cell phones then. He wishes he had one right then so he could call Sam, tell him about it. Text him a picture of the writing. Sam was the smarter brother. He'd recognize the writing, he'd be able to tell Dean who it came from. Dean would thank him, find this sicko, kill him, and then he really could start a new life with Castiel instead of pretending he was.  
  
He misses Sam so much. He misses his easy life in New York. He misses the couple of friends he had there, too. For the first time Dean wonders if this precious gift of an omega is worth it.


	14. Weapons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean keep moving as more notes are found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm finished it. But there's a chapter I can't stand at all. Must be rewritten. Anticipate a length of about 30 chapters.  
> Feedback is much appreciated.  
> Same warnings apply as previous chapters. Barely.

They head into Colorado. They hit Denver. There's more people here than any city they've been in yet. They think that means this psycho will have a harder time getting to them, having to sneak around to avoid getting caught.  
  
Three days in there's a note inside the front door of where they decided to stay.   
  
_Riddle me this. I'll fall asleep forever but never close my eyes. What am I?_  
  
There's no body to be found. They leave anyway.  
  
____  
  
They try something new. They go smaller. Las Vegas, New Mexico is a town rather than a city.   
  
Their first night there Castiel curls into Dean's side. Dean shrugs him off. Castiel finds a couch to sleep on. He can feel Dean's upset, is worried for the distance he's putting between them but he can't understand what's brought it on.   
  
Two days in there's paper tucked under the wiper blades of the Impala.   
  
_That's right! It's the corpses. Well, it would be if you hadn't closed their eyes. I'm very disappointed. What kind of freak touches a dead body? You should do a better job of playing along._  
  
"Dean?" Castiel's hesitant.  
  
"Yeah?" He sounds exhausted.  
  
"You said you thought you recognize the writing, right?"  
  
Dean hesitates now. "Yeah, maybe. I don't know anymore. What about it?"  
  
"Do you... Think that whoever this is may be finding us so easily because of the car? Did the people who knew you know Baby?"  
  
Dean's body is tense. The feelings rushing through him attack Castiel all at once. Fear, remorse, curiosity, shame.  
  
"Calm down, please." Cas clutches the side of his head tightly.   
  
"I'm so sorry, Cas. I just- _how?_ I should have known. We haven't seen any cars, haven't seen any-any anything! How could someone be following us? How could they keep following us if not for- _goddammit._ " Dean's anger towards Castiel is draining. He chose to go on the run with this man and it's his precious automobile that's causing them to be tracked, causing all this chaos and death to constantly find them again and again. He's briefly amazed with himself he's survived so long.   
  
"I know, Dean. It's the only thing that's been constant. We try houses, hotels, motels. We went South, we went West, we skipped a state. The only thing we don't change is the way we get there, is the car. Think about Kansas! We were there so long. If this is someone you know do you think they could have let us stay there for so long because they know that's where you're from?"  
  
Dean's hands shake where they lay against the car. Seconds tick by. Minutes. Dean's palms finally fall from the shining black paint.  
  
"You're right." He opens the trunk and begins to shove what they've accumulated into a duffle bag, a backpack, a messenger bag, a tote bag. Everything the could find to carry their life they took from previous cities and Dean fills it all up now to continue carrying.  
  
Castiel joins him at the back of the car, packing things silently. "I'm sorry," he says when the trunk slams shut.  
  
"Don't be." Dean works his way around the car. He pops open the glove box when he reaches the passengers side and produces two items. One is silver, shining, and heavier than Castiel expects when it's handed to him.  
  
"A gun?"  
  
Dean nods. "A gun." He holds out the second item, an offering. The handle is wood. There's grooves where his fingers can grip perfectly. It looks old. Older than Dean. It's sheathed in a simple black leather carrier that has a small loop and a button so it can be strapped to any belt.  
  
Castiel pulls the item from its protective cover. He holds it tight if not awkward and gawks at the jagged edge. His eyes swoop over the end where it draws into a sharp point. When he's done admiring it his eyes flicker to Dean's face. He looks proud. Castiel gives it a cautious swing, the air making a _swoosh_ sound where the blade slices through it. It isn't Castiel's first time holding a knife but he thinks keeping that information to himself for now is his best option.  
  
"Time to sharpen you knife, Cas."  
  
Castiel is relieved to hear he doesn't have to learn how to shoot a firearm.


	15. New Mexico

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas travel onward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a couple busy days there with the chubbos. It's finally nice weather so I decided to go get myself a sun burn yesterday.  
> I'd like to apologize for this story! I've noticed bookmarks are going down instead of up haha. Is it dying for you guys? Should I not continue? Honest feedback is welcome!

Traveling on foot makes them both weary. They're thankful they're in the Southern states. It would be far too cold to move on foot anywhere else now.  
  
Dean tells stories of the Impala from when it was his fathers car and he and Sam were small. He talks of when it was gifted to him and all the stories of it warm Castiel's heart. They also make his stomach drop out that such a large piece of Dean's history has now been abandoned.  
  
They follow the highway but they stay far enough off of it that they won't be noticed. They hope it's enough.  
  
They walk all day. It takes them nine hours to make it from Las Vegas to San Jose. Castiel feels a dull ache from his thighs right down to his toes but he fairs far better than Dean who collapses onto the first soft looking piece of anything in the first home they find.  
  
It's a junkies soiled box-spring that lays crooked on a living room floor. Castiel can't bring himself to lay down on it. He wishes Dean hadn't either. He wants to tell him as much but there are snores being muffled into the material before he even gets the chance. Accepting his fate for now Castiel takes a seat on the wooden floor. The wall behind him is his pillow that evening.  
  
______   
  
"We can't walk," Castiel decides the next morning. He's munching away at the last of the Halloween candy, pretending it's a nutritious breakfast. "Whoever was following us was able to keep up even when we did travel by car. They might not be able to track us so easily without the Impala but they're be able to get ahead of us if we're on foot because clearly they aren't." It's a good argument and Castiel knows it sounds better than _you're not in good enough shape for this_. Dean is fit. He's just not walk-a-marathon-fit. Not cardio fit. He's muscular, not lean. It's not insulting to say so but Castiel doesn't want to tell him he can see Dean struggling.  
  
"Okay, so what do you want me to do?" Dean asks. He grunts, disgusted, when he stands from the box spring to see the melting pot of fluids that stain it.  
  
"You told me you were a mechanic for a time. When it still mattered? When people still worked. Find us another car. You'll be able to make it work. I know it." Castiel gives Dean his best pleading stare, eyes large and hopeful.  
  
Dean groans. "Fine. But if I don't find something in the next two hours we keep moving on foot."  
  
Castiel agrees readily.  
  
_____  
  
They go up and down every street. They check every garage. It's been two hours and ten minutes when they finally give up.  
  
Sometimes the fates smile on you, though. On their way out of town they see what can only be considered a beacon from the Gods. Partially off the road, grill pressed into the ditch but still on all four wheels, is a Jeep Wrangler.  
  
"God bless America," Dean swoons. "If this thing runs... she'll be perfect."  
  
So Dean gets to work. He practically hurdles himself into the ditch. He maneuvers his way into the drivers seat. Dean's first step with every car they'd come across was to see if it could be hot wired and if it could and it ran to make sure everything was in working order. Or good enough order to get them going until they found a better option.  
  
Castiel watches from the edge of the highway. He glances over his shoulder constantly, waiting for this faceless villain to appear at any moment. On the fifteenth glance he hears a sudden roar.  
  
"Woo!" Dean hoots. He kicks the door open. "Babe," he says, grinning like a mad man, "get your sweet ass in here and let's get the fuck out of Mexico."  
  
"New Mexico," Castiel corrects. He feels like a teenage girl being taken on their first date with a boy that drives. He's heady with the excitement and relief.  
  
"You're amazing," he praises. He leans over the centre console once he's climbed into the vehicle and plants a firm kiss on the corner of Dean's mouth.  
  
Dean lets out a low rumble, inner alpha proud and rising to the surface. That swell of pride tells him he is a good alpha and he can take care of his mate.  
  
"Where should we go?"  
  
Dean shrugs one shoulder and puts the vehicle into 4HI and reverse. He eases his foot down on the gas, doesn't want to give it too much and send the tires spinning. Successfully, the tires grip the muddy earth, engine grinding loudly as it works to free the machine.  
  
It's a slow process but they're eventually freed after many small trips back and forth until the vehicle was in a good position to crawl up the steep slope. The success is celebrated with hooting and hollering from both men.  
  
"I want to go to Nevada," Castiel decides as they're driving down the road. "I want to go to the real Las Vegas. See the strip."  
  
"Hate to break it to you, Cas, but I don't think that it's gonna be anything too amazing now."  
  
Castiel's eyes are fixed outside the window, looking forward, looking into the future. "Maybe," he agrees, "but I'd still love to see it."  
  
For Dean, that settles it.

  
After a few moments of silence he taps on Castiel's knee to get his attention. When the thinner man turns to him Dean offers up a wicked smirk. "Road head?"


	16. Vegas, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel learns to drive and the weather in Nevada is really something strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is just a reminder that the worlds some polluted wreckage and the next one is going to give you all some awesome plot advancement and things will really start moving quickly from that point on.

They make it halfway through Arizona before the Jeep runs out of gas. It takes them six hours to walk to the nearest gas station they can find to siphon some more. Dean thanks every God he's never been too sure about that he took the gerry cans out of the Impala and dragged them through New Mexico with him. In fact, he's starting to think maybe there is some God out there he needs to thank for all the luck they've been having. It's nearly unreal. He's not sure he should trust it. He's waiting for disaster to strike.  
  
When they get back to the Jeep it's late and it's dark. Dean's exhausted.  
  
"I know it's gonna be real uncomfortable to sleep in but I'm way too tired to drive right now so I think we just park somewhere and call it a night." Dean offers Castiel a weak smile.  
  
"I could drive."  
  
"You know how to drive?"  
  
Castiel shrugs, "looks easy enough. It's an automatic, right? How hard could it be. I tried to steal a standard vehicle once but that's a story for another day." He grins.  
  
Dean snorts unattractively. "Harder than you realize."  
  
"Well then I guess you'll have to stay up just a little longer to teach me."  
  
They swap seats and Dean has barely had time to clip his belt into place before Castiel is pulling on the knob, getting the Jeep into drive, and pressing a foot down firmly.  
  
"Whoa," Dean gasps, "easy tiger! Jeeps aren't made to go fast. Gotta be gentle with 'er on the highway. It's a military vehicle, you know? It's meant to go through rough terrain at a lower speed. That's why she came outta the ditch so well. She won't last us long with you ripping down the road."  
  
Castiel's sheepish as he listens to the criticisms and lets the vehicle coast. "Sorry." It warms his heart to hear Dean speak so affectionately about something inanimate. He thinks in a different reality Dean probably loved being a mechanic and would still be one now if careers were still an option.   
  
Dean instructs and Castiel follows all of his directions to the letter. An hour later Castiel feels like a pro and Dean praises him for being a quick learner. He doesn't mention that it's a complete relief that there are no other vehicles to share the road with. He takes that as his cue to doze off while Castiel takes his time getting them to Nevada.  
  
______

When Dean wakes next they're moving at a crawl. The smog outside is so thick that the visibility is nil.  
  
"It's got fog lamps," Dean says, "turn 'em on. Might help."  
  
Castiel searches for the switch. When he finds it only one of the lamps flickers on, directed down so that the pavement is illuminated. It helps if only on a minimal scale. The rain that pounds down does nothing to break up the dense atmosphere and it makes a strange sizzling noise when it strikes the metal body of the vehicle.  
  
"This is the worst I've ever seen," Dean mutters. The pollution here is horrific.  
  
"Me too."  
  
Castiel drives at a snails pace. He thinks he's going straight down the road but he soon realizes there's a dragging noise that has a metallic tinge to it and he can just see the shine of what appears to be an iron chair against the grill.  
  
"Did- did you hit a table?"   
  
Dean's tone is serious. Castiel doesn't answer, doesn't know what to say, and then there's a sudden _giggle_ of all things that bursts out of Dean like he couldn't possibly hold back even if he tried. Castiel finds the laughter to be contagious and they're both laughing out loud soon enough, the sound filling the small space they inhabit. Castiel keeps driving, keeps listening to the scratching of the metal, keeps laughing harder until they both ache from it.  
  
"Oh man, Cas. You're the best." Dean sniffles and wipes at his face, tears having sprung to his eyes from his fits of giggles.  
  
Castiel smiles shyly to himself. They continue in comfortable silence until suddenly the Jeep doesn't appear to be moving forward anymore. "I believe we've hit a wall."  
  
"Yeah." Dean wants to scan the area but it's still just a grey blur. "Okay," he decides, "you stay here and I'll do some recon."  
  
Castiel rolls his eyes. "We stay together. That's the rule." He kills the engine and reaches for the door handle.  
  
Both men are immediately filled with regret upon exiting the Wrangler.  
  
"Oh my God," Cas wheezes. He slaps a hand over his mouth and nose.  
  
Dean is coughing too hard for words. He blindly moves about the vehicle, arm swinging rapidly in search of Castiel. When he hits something solid that he's sure is a body he begins to pull. "Co-come on," he manages to rasp out.  
  
They fumble around, arms out before their faces, body parts knocking together as they trudge onward through the putrid air.  
  
The air isn't just thick. It isn't just the endless grey smog of too much pollution from the decades past. It's toxic. It's acidic. It's not just the air. It's the rain.  
  
With every breath Dean's throat feels like it's ripping open. His skin starts to tingle as if it's being slowly burnt.  
  
Castiel touches a hand to his nose and it feels damp. The seer from the air has shredded the tender skin inside his nostrils. It bleeds at a slow but steady rate. He's thankful for his long sleeve shirt when he feels his hands start to sizzle.  
  
By luck Dean doesn't know what he did to deserve they find a door. Dean yanks it open too fast and it hits Castiel abruptly in the elbow. He wants to cry out but the way his face itches where it's seemingly melting keeps him from the risk of opening his mouth and subjecting it to the onslaught of the atmosphere.  
  
Once inside it's a literal breath of fresh air. Stale air, but fresh never the less.  
  
"Are you okay?" Dean turns to Castiel. His expression is pained, his lips are blistered. He reaches up with his sleeve to dab at Castiel's nose.   
  
"What was that?" Castiel views the backs of his hand and the skin of Dean's arms where his shirt was rolled up to just below the elbow. They both have open, irritated looking sores and their clothes appear burnt and frayed.  
  
Dean faces the door, brows drawn together. "I... I think it was acid rain." He spins around, touches his lip. He winces. "Dude-" His eyes dart up. "Look. We're in the Mile Mall. Guess we made it to the strip after all."  
  
Castiel lets his eyes scan over the hallways that go off in both directions and look like they go on forever. "Good name," he says absently, "not quite how I expected the trip to go."  
  
"We should see what we can find to protect ourselves."  
  
Castiel nods his agreement. Their search begins. They do all they can not to acknowledge the singed flesh that is causing them both to move along slowly to avoid causing them both any more anguish. Castiel makes a mental note to put a first aid kit on their list of things to find.


	17. What Happens In Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean meet a stranger that could change their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning!  
> Implied drug use, drug related over-dose, minor character death.  
> I know a lot of people choose to put these notes at the end of chapters so that you don't get any spoilers but I never read chapter-end notes before the chapter and then I go "well fuck" a lot.

Dean and Castiel wander for hours. It's amazing how much is left in the mall. They can't bring themselves to leave anything behind that appeals to them. For a while it's as though all is right in the world and they've won some sort of shopping spree where the malls been closed down for just them to enjoy.  
  
They can hardly keep track of where they are in the endless rows of shops but Castiel, ever the thinking man, had made a point of keeping track of the entry they came in through and what stores surrounded it. They find a store that sells luggage soon after entering and grab the biggest suitcases they can find. Ones with wheels and handles. They roll along behind them on the tiled floors, ready to be filled.  
  
Dean sees a camping store. He finds a backpack much nicer than the one he'd been using previously. A massive thing that has space to roll a sleeping bag up on the outside of it. It has several compartments that he fills to nearly bursting with every little knick-knack he finds in the store. A lamp, fuel, a flashlight. Thermal underwear and socks. Bear mace and a pair of shoes that he thinks look pretty stupid but they're his size and it's not a time to be picky. His boots are sturdy but they could use a break after the weather they just trudged through.  
  
Castiel finds one very similar in style and does the same. He packs it full with any clothing that will fit them and stuffs it full with water bottles the find in back rooms of fast food joints in one of the food courts. They make a point of changing into new clothes while there and toss their old ones to floor. No point keeping them now when they've found so many suitable replacement options.   
  
The suitcases make the muscles of their arms strain as they get loaded up in much the same way. They alternate which hands pull them for the tenderness of their fingers due to the acid that injured them. Castiel pulls his sleeve down over his palm to ease the level of contact. They can't believe their luck at just how little has been pillaged from the stores and they eventually do find that first aid kit they so badly needed and Dean makes a joke about how Castiel could be his sexy nurse when the omega wraps some of his injuries with the precision of someone who grew up in a hospital. It causes a lump to form in his throat to remember that Castiel very likely did grow up watching doctors stitch and staple and wrap wounds.  
  
"It's amazing," Cas marvels as the suitcase gets fuller and fuller, bulging at the seams, and they haven't even finished their exploration of the mall yet.  
  
"It's Vegas! People come here to indulge in all their bad habits. Probably didn't even need to steal shit, probably already feel satisfied and now they're all off in drug induced stupors."  
  
"Dean," Castiel scolds, "it's hardly theft. It's about survival." His tone is firm and for a moment the lightness of their adventure disappears before Cas lets out a surprised noise. "Dean!" He points forward and Dean's eyes follow the direction of his finger until he sees it too.  
  
"Hey!" Dean yells . He starts off in the direction of the man that is stumbling around far down the hall.  
  
Castiel follows, a little more apprehensive. The knife Dean had given him is tucked tightly against his waist and his fingers hover near it. They eventually draw close enough to see the man clearly. "Sir?" Castiel calls to him.  
  
A scrawny, dark head of hair turns to them, lazy and unstable. "Hey," he says, "people." His arms are thrown into the air like it's the most amazing thing he's ever witnessed.   
  
"Dean," Cas whispers, "look at his nose."  
  
Dean shoots Castiel a sideways glance and offers him a nod to say I saw it too.  
  
This man is tall and far too skinny for his frame. His eyes are sunken and hollow, the bags around them appear as though they might consume his sight at any moment. His lips are dry and split and his skin is so pale it makes Castiel look tan. Though to be honest Castiel is looking more sun kissed every day of his life with Dean, even though the sun rarely shines. His nose is red, irritated, and has a dry track of blood beneath the right nostril. It's slightly smeared as if he unconsciously wiped or licked at it when it was still fresh. There's not an injury on him to lead the boys to the assumption that this is his body reacting to the strange rains that fall outside.   
  
"Cocaine," Dean mouths. Castiel frowns. "Hey man, what's your name?"  
  
The man lolls his head back, staring at the ceiling as if he needs to think about the answer. When he drops it back down he has a dopey grin on his face. "Garth. What's yours?"  
  
"I'm Dean, and this is Cas." Dean gestures first to himself and then to Castiel.  
  
"Dean and Cas," he parrots, "I like it. Yeah. 'S nice to meet you, Dean and Cas."  
  
"It's nice to meet you as well," Castiel says slowly. He's stepped much closer to the man than Dean feels is strictly necessary. He shoots his omega an inquisitive look.  
  
Castiel swallows, his throat working hard against the dryness of it. "Garth," he reaches out and touches the man's arm softly. His skin is burning. He's taken too much of whatever he's taken. Castiel feels a burst of panic. "Garth, you've overdosed, haven't you?"  
  
Garth looks at him and his eyes are blurry. "Man," he whimpers, and collapses into Castiel. Cas does what he can to hold him up which is too easy with his bone thin body. With the help of Dean they find a seating area and prop Garth up in a chair. Castiel offers him one of the water bottles from earlier and it's emptied so fast it's startling.  
  
Dean sits back in a different chair. He watches. Something significant is happening between Castiel and this man that he knows he doesn't fully understand.  
  
There's a few beats of silence while Garth breathes heavily before Castiel speaks to him. His voice is lower than usual. "You're an omega."  
  
Dean's eyes go wide at this revelation but not nearly as wide as Garth's.  
  
"Awe fuck," he whines, "please man. Don't try to breed me, please. I can't carry."  
  
Castiel kneels in front of Garth, his touch gentle and reassuring where it falls on his knees. Both of Castiel's hands are wrapped in a thin layer of white gauze, so stark against the dark grey of Garth's jeans. "Garth, I'm an omega too."  
  
"Really?" He tries to whistle, barely a noise coming from his puckered lips. "I haven't met a single one outside the island. How do you survive?" It sounds like Garth really can't comprehend the idea of an omega being able to exist on their own. Castiel isn't surprised by his disbelief when he gives him a once over and sees how far gone he is, scared shitless that someone will try to attack him even when he's already dying and something in Castiel twists painfully and says _he overdosed on purpose._  
  
"The island?" Dean pipes up.  
  
Castiel shushes him but Garth has already started to react. It's as though he's noticing Dean for the first time, and maybe he's forgotten he already spoke to him, and he's terrified.   
  
"No way man! You're an alpha." He's trying to get up from his seat but Castiel holds him in place firmly. The struggle makes him wince, new clothes rubbing at the blisters that have formed on his skin.   
  
"It's okay, he's my mate. He won't hurt you." Castiel has a brief flash of a memory of Dean telling him those same words the day they met. He shudders. "What island?"   
  
Garth shrugs. "The omega island. The Everglow's what we call it. That's where we all live. It's safe there. Alpha's don't know about it. It's great."  
  
Dean gasps and Castiel has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep composed. He prays there aren't the hopeful ramblings of a dying drug addict. "Where is this island?"  
  
"I can't tell you man, I'm sorry. You're with an alpha."  
  
"Why aren't you there?" Dean bellows.  
  
"Dean," Castiel chastises.  
  
"Wanted to see the world. Thought-" He stops to sniff and his eyes blink at a tediously slow rate. "Thought it wouldn't be as bad as everyone said." He smiles ruefully at himself and it's the saddest thing Castiel has ever seen. His heart hurts for this man. He pictures what he may have been like before he left this supposed island, more meat to him and colour to his skin. Light in his eyes and a real smile. He thinks he'd have been funny. He thinks they'd have been good friends.  
  
"Tell him where it is." Dean stands from where he's seated and there's an edge to his tone. "I won't go with him."  
  
 _"What?"_ Castiel yelps. "Dean," he hisses, "sit down."  
  
"No, Cas!" Dean moves closer to Garth who seems startled by the action but he's growing more sluggish with every passing minute. "Listen here, Garth. Cas is an omega. He deserves to be somewhere safe, with other omegas. You left and look what happened to you. You want someone else's life to end up that way? You want that on your conscience?"  
  
"Goddammit, Dean. _Shut up!_ " Castiel gets to his feet and gives Dean a harsh shove backwards. He freezes. The smell of alpha fills the air. Castiel realizes he's pushing it too far. Dean's lips that had been butchered from the rain are split from the force of his words and his tongue darts out to swipe over a fresh swell of blood that blooms on the bottom one.  
  
Garth winces as if it's physically painful to smell Dean's scent. "Don't hurt me," he pleads, a mess of shuddering limbs in his chair, "I'm no good to an alpha."  
  
Dean scoffs and passes Castiel. "Oh, this is ridiculous." He grabs Garth by his shirt, hauls him to his feet so they're nose to nose. "Tell him."  
  
Garth recoils, arms blocking his face, anticipating a hit next. "Don't," he warns, "I'm infected!"  
  
"You know about the virus" Dean asks at the same time as Castiel says "no you aren't". The fight leaves them both momentarily at the realization that what Castiel was told, and what he in turn told to Dean, is true.   
  
"You can't be," Castiel continues. He's unraveling Dean's fists from Garth's shirt. "If you're infected you can't be an omega."  
  
Garth laughs, the sound distant and humourless. "What? Of course you can." He's still laughing. "How do you think the infection works?" His nose scrunches up as if Castiel is the strangest creature he's ever seen but then his face falls again as if using the muscles is too much effort now.  
  
Garth starts to slow even further. He sways on his feet and sags back into the chair. When Castiel reaches out to brace him his skin is damp and cool now, sweat making it slick.  
  
"I'm going to die," Garth says. There's no fear to it.  
  
Castiel offers a sad smile. "It's okay, I'm here." He slides a hand out, palm up, and Garth wraps his own fingers around it so tightly Castiel can feel cramps beginning to form in his own joints almost instantly. One of the blisters on the back of his hand tears under the gauze from the pressure but he schools his expression because this moment is about Garth now.  
  
"Cas," Dean growls, all alpha and anger again, "are you kidding me?"  
  
Castiel isn't listening. Can't right now. "Take a walk, Dean." It's not a question. It's not an offer. It's a demand. If Dean's alpha can't handle that Castiel will worry about the consequences of that later. Right now, he needs to be here for his omega brother.  
  
Castiel absently hears Dean trudging away. "Garth?" He whispers, "how is it that the infection works?"  
  
"You, uh- it's-" Garth closes his eyes, his grip a fraction looser, "it mutates the genes." Castiel knows that. "It's supposed to make alphas bigger, you know? Stronger." Castiel knows this too. Garth breathes heavily, his chest rising and falling visibly with the strain of it. "It doesn't stop the omega gene, though. It did, for a while, for a long while. Doesn't anymore." His smile is sly, like he's about to let Castiel in on a special secret. "See, it did at first. We all kept coming out betas, presenting later, all missing out on want we were meant to be because of the A-Virus. There's carriers now, though. Born stronger, born to over come the mutation because it was in our mama's and we were immune to that injection. Strain they made isn't strong enough anymore. We can kill them right back." The speech should take only a minute but with the stress it's putting on Garth's failing body it goes on for what must be fifteen, words cracking and slow and sometimes raspy and whispered.  
  
"What?" Castiel's eyes are dinner plates at Garth's final comment, fixated on the ever paler face in front of his own.  
  
"On the island, we got a guy. Found a way to change it. Virus is all man made, you know? It's this sick cult. Wanted to purify the planet, only wanted to kill off male omegas because we were such a mystery to them, such an abomination. Ended up ruining it, ended up killing _all_ the omegas. But we have doctors too, Cas. They called theirs the A-Virus, the one that fucked us all up. Now we've got our own. We've got the O-Virus, man. They're gonna give it to all the pups, make sure we don't make anymore alphas. You know what it's gonna do?"  
  
Castiel waits. He leans in. He's ready to hear it.  
  
Garth grins, all teeth. "It kills 'em right back. Burns them from the inside out, so they don't present. Just like they did to us. See ours though? If you inject it in a healthy, presented alpha it makes them infertile. Kills all there little bastard swimmers. Makes them useless as an alpha. Can't make more alpha's, can't kill more omegas."  
  
Garth collapses backward in the chair, his fingers are so tight where they hold Castiel he nearly buckles under the pain. It reminds him of his mother's hand squeezing his when he was old enough to be by her side through some of her last labours and deliveries. It's all so much information to process and could it be true, or could it just be this poor, lonely omega telling a fib, making up a fairy tale of a world that evens itself out because that would be a truly wonderful fantasy to pass away believing. "Garth?"  
  
The man starts to convulse suddenly and Castiel is panicking. "Garth!" he shouts, "where's the island?"  
  
Garth's breathing is ragged. It looks as though it's painful for him just to keep going. His body arches away from the chair, a beautiful curve where his soul is preparing to escape him. "The," he gasps, "the coast."  
  
He seizes up and shakes. His body stutters violently and there's frothy white foam dribbling from the corner of his mouth, shaking and streaking down along his cheek with his erratic movements. Castiel tries to hold him down, tries to steady his body but he knows that there's nothing he can do now. There was nothing anyone could do.   
  
"I'm here," he tells him. Tears sting his eyes and he holds Garth's wrists down so he won't injure himself, as if there's a reason to keep him from scratching his already ruined face. "It's okay." His voice is choked off, the lump in his throat making words difficult. The only other omega he's ever met and they shared such little time together.  
  
"It's okay, I'm here," he says over and over as Garth's body reacts violently to the drugs shutting down his system. He's ridged, he's boneless, he's gritting his teeth and his own eyes are liquid where tears fill them, likely from pain more than sadness. Those eyes are vacant now though, when he slumps into the chair a final time.  
  
When it ends Castiel is like a child on his knees, his head in Garth's lap. He continues to sob until Dean returns and picks him up, holds him against his broad chest. The cries make his entire body tremble. He doesn't stop for a long time.  
  
When he does, Dean strokes his hair and kisses his ruby red cheeks. He kisses his swollen eyelids and bright pink nose. Soft kisses that are meant to soothe and nothing more.  
  
"Guess it's not the best time," he mumbles into Castiel's hair, "but I found a camera. Thought you might like that." It's a lame attempt to pull him from his despair but Castiel can still find it in himself to appreciate the gesture. He has to keep it together, has to be strong despite watching a man die in such a torturous display. Has to be strong despite not getting the information he needed from Garth. _The coast?_ he thinks. _That could be so many places._ He tries not to let that get him down anymore.   
  
"Guess it's not the best time to tell you," he parrots, and he reaches into the main pouch of his backpack, rifling through it until he comes back with an armful of CD cases. He offers up a broken and weak smile, but Dean offers him one right back that says _I'm proud of you_ because Castiel is trying so hard to be strong through all of this. "I thought we could use some music." He knows Dean watched him go into the music store, but the look on Dean's face when he sees just what Castiel picked up while in it makes him grin wildly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that a sober person I have no clue about how this whole dying from an over-dose process might go other than what I see on TV. Hopefully it's accurate and if it's not... alternate universe! We'll claim it's accurate in this universe. 
> 
> Also, I found a homemade CD the other day, popped it into my Jeep (yep, that's write, I wrote my Baby as Baby 2.0 in this), and it was The Everglow by Mae. It's some ridiculously sappy emo stuff but I was listening and thinking "huh, this reminds me a little of these guys I'm writing about" (certain lyrics such as "did you know how you would move me, did you know? Did you know how you would move me, Well, I don't really think so") which really are terrible lyrics but I was like "I doubt they knew how they'd impact each other that first day" yadda yadda so I wanted to incorporate that title track in here some how. If you haven't listened to this CD and can find it somewhere if you miss your teenage emo phase it's a cute one to reminisce to.


	18. Cruisin' Through California

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel search the coastal islands of California in sure of The Everglow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm technology illiterate basically and I just discovered that page break line thing so no more _____ for you folks! Wow. Who let me on the internet? Seriously. Also, again, Canadian. My knowledge of California might be way off as I only vacation there every few years.

The camera becomes their life. They document everything. The CD's become a faithful companion, a happy-to-be-the-third-wheel kind of friend to them.   
  
They give Garth a funeral, burn his body at the demand of Castiel so that if anyone who might have discovered his corpse and still smelled the residual omega on him wouldn't be able to defile him. Dean had said "who the hell would" and Castiel had shivered uncomfortably and responded "you'd be surprised".

They're stuck in the mall until the acid rain stops but when they can leave they try to muffle the air by covering their mouths and noses with scarves. It works wonders and they get back to the Jeep much easier than they ever expected after their horrific entry two days early. They load their backpacks and suitcases in and the vehicle is so full Castiel's feet are propped up on the exterior bags that their new sleeping bags are rolled into as he takes up residence in the passengers seat.  
  
Castiel wants pictures of the miniature versions of world wonders that litter the streets of Las Vegas but the smog makes it impossible. He takes pictures of the grey that surrounds them and claims he'll remember later what sights were in each picture. Dean just smiles and nods at him, doesn't say the sarcastic _sure you will_ that it implies.  
  
They finally roll to a halt on what must be the outskirts of the city because the fog is thinner here. Dean looks at Castiel to ask _what now?_  
  
"Garth said-" Castiel swallows thickly, still saddened by what they experienced, "it was on the coast."  
  
Dean frowns. "Gee, really? It's not an island in the _middle_ of the country?" He rolls his eyes. "Come on, Cas. Dude was wrecked. You believe him?"  
  
Castiel considers telling Dean what Garth told him about the virus. About both of them. He decides to keep the information to himself for now. Just for a little while longer. To see what it could potentially all mean if Dean knew. He knows Dean loves and trusts him but he still has something inside of him yelling _he doesn't have thick skin. He had the most apple pie existence_. Which, in theory, sounds ridiculous during the end of the world but considering both their lifestyles Dean really did have it easy. Seeing how he reacted to dead bodies without knowing the actual traumas they endured and still being a vomiting mess showed Castiel that he may be the omega but he's the one with the stronger composition. He doesn't fault Dean for it. He's jealous of him, really. Simple life, alpha life. He forces a smile not to grace his features at the idea of a domestic, happy Dean living like nothing was wrong with this planet in New York, with his brother and buddies. He frowns when he notices Dean whistle at him and wave a hand before his face. He's taking too long to answer. "Yes," he says finally, "I believe him."  
  
"Fine," Dean huffs, "which coast?"  
  
"I would assume the West. I find it hard to imagine he traveled all the way from the East to Nevada. We should head to California, I suppose. Start at the bottom? Work our way up?"  
  
Dean sighs, reluctant, but he puts his foot back on the gas and starts off in the direction he believes will bring them to the Southern end of California.

 

* * *

  
  
"There are eight islands off of California." Castiel doesn't look up from the map as he tells Dean this, eyes darting all along the paper that is folded open and held in both of his hands. "I think it would be wise to start looking at the Southernmost one which is San Clemente."  
  
"That's a great idea, Cas, but what are we gonna do? Take a boat?" He snorts.  
  
"Actually," Castiel looks up now, eyes bright, "that's a wonderful idea! We could find a large docking area- a harbour- there must be boats that still run somewhere, right? Can you hot wire one maybe? Like you did the Jeep."  
  
Dean scrubs a hand through his hair. It's getting too long for his liking. He'll take a knife to it soon if he has to. He doesn't want it falling into his eyes. Dean wonders why in all their collections of toiletries they have made over the past months they have never considered gathering anything for their over grown manes.  
  
"I could try." He says in place of _why didn't we ever get scissors?_

 

* * *

  
  
It doesn't take long to find a marina in Southern California. On the way they listen to Neil Diamond and Castiel tells Dean he's never heard him before but really likes that "Sweet Caroline song". Dean finds his lack of knowledge due to his youth and sheltered upbringing endearing.  
  
Dean blows his own mind when they find a little cruising boat and he manages to get it running with minimal hassle. "My hero" Castiel says jokingly when the engine sputters to life. They take a full gerry can from the Jeep before they store the vehicle in a relatively hidden location, disguising it to look run down just in case someone stumbles across it.  
  
The air seems cleaner out here and it's no surprise. The ocean may have its fair share of trash floating in it but not enough of it to taint the air. Dean takes in salty lungfuls and Castiel lets the icy water splash against his face in a refreshing mist.  
  


* * *

  
  
San Clemente is a bust. There's no one and nothing there. The day is young and they try not to get discouraged.  
  
"San Nicolas is next," Cas says, "it's smaller."  
  
It's emptier, if that were possible.  
  
They're a little discouraged this time.  
  
"I suggest we keep going North, to the trio of large islands and one tiny one. If we don't have luck we can come back down and finish off the other two."  
  
"Sounds like a plan," Dean says, trying to sound chipper and enthused. It doesn't come out as positive as he'd hoped.  
  


* * *

  
San Miguel, Santa Rosa, and Santa Cruz are home to a handful of betas and alphas but no omega is anywhere to be found.  
  
Anacapa is so small they are on the island and off the island within an hour. Santa Barbara is the same.  
  
"Santa Catalina is the last one." Cas sounds exhausted and frustrated. Dean feels the same way.  
  
"I'm sorry," Dean tells him, feeling a sense of deja vu is in their near future. To give them both a break before inevitable disappointment Dean suggests they spend the night in Santa Barbara as if time will heal the wound.  
  


* * *

  
  
Dean is right. Santa Catalina is a beautiful place still, all the islands have been. They still hold that quality of knowing nothing has been properly cared for in easily two decades but it's lush and green and peaceful. It's not a secret home for omegas, though.  
  
The boat is quiet as Dean readies it to for the return to their vehicle. Castiel has been sitting quietly on a bench seat along the back of it, staring off into the vast waters since they left dry land. Dean aches for him, knows how much seeing other omegas would mean to him. He can't make that happen, doesn't believe Garth was in his right mind, so he goes for lighthearted instead.   
  
"Babe." He pulls his shirt over his head, discards it on the floor. He raises his arms, balls his fists, and flexes his biceps. "Take a picture." He waggles his eyebrows.  
  
Castiel, of course, did bring along the camera as if it were an additional extremity. He wants to say no, to mope about their wasted time a little more, but the goofy look on Dean's face makes him bring the camera up and Dean into frame. He snaps a picture.  
  
"Lookin' good," he cat-calls.  
  
"Not as a good as you," Dean playfully returns. He kills the engine then and the boat floats quietly along in the minute waves. Dean takes the opportunity to join Castiel on his seat.  
  
"You really do look good," he whispers, "the fresh air makes your skin glow." He pulls a grinning Castiel into his lap so that the omega is straddling him.  
  
"Oh Dean," he chuckles, his hands cupping his lovers face. "It's not a glow, it's sweat." He leans in for what he expects to be a chaste kiss but Dean's palms covering his back are heated reminders of how long it's been since they've shared any kind of intimacy.  
  
Dean groans into his mouth when Castiel's teeth plant a playful nip on him. "Babe," Dean mutters, a warning, all bark and no bite. Castiel takes advantage of it. He gets himself comfortable, knees boxing in Dean's thighs and he breaks away so he can remove his own shirt. "Warm," he mumbles as reasoning.  
  
Dean raises an eyebrow. Castiel's always cold. He wants to say as much but he's painfully distracted by the dark pink of Castiel's stiff nipples when they're exposed to the ocean air.  
  
The winter air bites at Castiel's skin but he barely notices. When he presses himself flush with Dean, those big alpha hands running along his back, he can't feel the sting of late November around them.  
  
"I missed this." Castiel's lips start at Dean's ear then, little kisses that cascade down his neck, along the length of his shoulder. His fingers seem frantic where they map the plains of Dean's upper body. His nose pushes against the other mans throat. He can smell the arousal coming off of Dean like it was injected directly into his nostrils. "So good." He licks at the spot where his nose has been, has to taste Dean's salty flesh.  
  
"Goddamn, Cas," Dean groans. His cock fills up too quickly and it's straining against his jeans already. He'd be embarrassed that as a grown man just some kissing and sniffing is getting him rock hard and ready but Castiel is wearing a pair of khakis and his own erection is an obvious lump that begs to be let out. "No pants," he breathes.  
  
Castiel is out of his lap and he stands on the boat, surprisingly steady with the motion of it bobbing on the water. Slender fingers unlatch his trousers and lower the zipper. He slides his legs free, his underwear going with them so that he won't have to separate from Dean again too soon.  
  
"You know you're fucking stunning?" Dean had taken the time to do the same, far less graceful. He's sitting on the bench again, his knees open in invitation so when Castiel returns to his lap his own legs are spread wide around Dean's thighs and hips. His ass cheeks are not close enough with this position to disguise his scent at all.  
  
Castiel's shyness about exposing himself to Dean has completely evaporated as if the ocean air carried it away on a breeze. He still hasn't presented for him because Dean is still pushing him to wait, but his inner omega wants to every time he smells the arousal on his mate. His mate that still won't give him a mating mark. For a second that disappointing reality distracts him but Dean's fingers trailing down his back and over the swell of his ass brings him back to the present situation.  
  
Dean stops just shy of his destination and Castiel leans forward, arches his back so that his chest is flush with Dean and Dean's fingers are slipping into his crack. He knows that if Dean were behind him he would be presenting himself to him, would be in the position that would be saying _I need you_. "C'mon," he begs, "don't tease me."  
  
"God," Dean growls, "you want it so bad." It's not a question. Dean knows how much he wants it and he's had so much more of it than Castiel and he still doesn't feel any less thrilled at the prospect of sex. He almost feels bad for holding out on him. Everyone's so hungry for it when they get their first taste and Dean has not left his partner satisfied.  
  
"Please," Castiel whimpers into his shoulder. He's rubbing his body against Dean's, the sensation delicious on both their cocks when they bump together. "Please." His fingers grip Dean's shoulders tight and he rocks rapidly against his partner.  
  
Dean obliges. He runs a finger through the liquid that seeps from the younger man. Dean constantly feels like he's robbing the cradle with Castiel but he finds it to be as large a turn on as it is a thing that makes him uneasy. "Oh fuck, you're so goddamn wet."  
  
"Yes," Castiel pants, "so wet for my alpha."  
  
Dean's cock pulses at the words, leaks precum between them that gets smothered against his stomach. He pushes a finger to the hole, circles over it so he can feel the pucker of the flesh. Castiel tries to push down on it and Dean grins over that, teases a little longer so he can listen to Castiel's breathy little pleas before he pushes it in finally. He just gets to the one knuckle, plans to let Cas adjust but Castiel just rocks into it and the finger's as deep as it can possibly go before Dean even realizes what's happened.  
  
"Need this," Cas mumbles, "more."  
  
Something in Dean's stomach turns. He can't quite place the sensation but he gives in without a fight. A second finger is added in an instant and Dean needs only to keep his wrist steady because Castiel is desperately fucking himself down onto them. "Like that babe?"  
  
Castiel shakes his head no. Dean frowns. "What?"  
  
"More," Cas moans, "not enough."  
  
Dean tries to be gentle as he brings his fingers together in a trio and his cock leaks a little more when he feels Castiel's body stretching over the digits. "Oh my God," he mutters, "you're so wet."  
  
"So wet," Cas parrots, "yes. Yes! Dean, Dean, Dean." He's slamming so hard onto him that Dean's wrist starts to throb. "More."  
  
"Cas," Dean says softly. He winces. Castiel's finger nails are breaking his skin where they dig into him. "Cas, babe, relax."  
  
Castiel shakes his head again. One hand stays gripping painfully but the pain becomes second to pleasure when Cas wraps a hand around Dean's cock and starts to stroke him. "So hard," he pants, "so big."  
  
Dean lets out a strangled sound at the compliments. "Yeah ba- _jesuschrist_."  
  
Dean's head snaps back and his mouth opens in a wordless moan. Castiel has raised up and situated Dean's cock at his entrance. Before Dean can protest it he's sinking down, down, and he's flush far too quietly for what could possibly be comfortable.  
  
"Holy shit," Castiel whines.  
  
"Cas, I-" Dean holds his partners hips steady. "You're gonna hurt yourself."  
  
"Alpha," Castiel yips out, "need my alpha. Feels fine, so good, so good. Need you, Dean." Castiel rambles on and on, grinding his hips in circles down onto Dean's lap.  
  
It takes all of Dean to keep composed. It feels more amazing than he expected. It's so much tighter than he could have ever imagined. It's the perfect fit. It's exactly what _red_ felt like the first time he thought of it in that alley many months ago now.  
  
"Cas, oh my god. Slow down, baby. Slow down." Dean hears himself saying it but he neglects his own words. His hips start to move to meet Castiel's own and he wraps one of his hands around Castiel's cock to stroke erratically. Castiel is moving too fast for him to manage a good rhythm. His other hand is at Castiel's tailbone, dragging him forward with every thrust. They're a mess of grinding, hips raising and falling, leaning forward and leaning back. There's no consistency or skill to what Castiel is doing, ever the eager virgin learning what he wants but the passion and ever changing angle is doing amazing things for Dean's cock.  
  
"Mate me," Castiel demands.  
  
Dean's eyes close at that. "Cas-"  
  
"Mate me," Castiel repeats, firm and loud. He doesn't let up at all.  
  
"No," Dean says.  
  
"My alpha." Castiel's face is at his ear, breath damp on him. It's ice cold with the wind whipping around them. His voice is needy and wanton. "My mate. Mate me, please. Want your knot, Dean. Need your knot. C'mon," he begs, on and on and Dean's willpower is fading.  
  
"Cas," he grunts, "you're amazing. You don-"  
  
"I'm your _omega_." He arches his back again, raises and falls higher now. Dean's cock-head tugs at Castiel's soaking wet rim.  
  
"My omega," he repeats. Dean's eyes are rimming with red. He doesn't know it yet but his alpha is screaming to be let out and Castiel is saying all the right things for that to happen.  
  
"Want your knot."  
  
"Yeah." He slams Castiel down, splits him in half. "Gonna give you my knot." His hands and hips are lightening fast now, ripping Castiel up and down on him.  
  
"Yes!" Castiel throws his head back, his fingers linked together behind Dean's neck. He's leaned so far back that all his weight is on Dean's neck now. "Give it to me. Fill me, Dean."  
  
Dean bucks up roughly. His muscles are on fire in his thighs, his shoulders, his everywhere. His balls feel tight and his knot is filling rapidly, thick and hot, ready to lock his mate to him.  
  
 _"Dean,"_ Cas is chanting.  
  
"What, baby? Tell me what you need." Dean's lips connect with Castiel's chest, frantic little bumping motions over the sweaty skin. He bites a nipple harshly.  
  
Castiel cries out at it. "Breed me. Breed me full, Dean. Fill me with your pups. Please, please. Mate me!"  
  
Dean's eyes are completely red and all he can think is that he needs to please his omega. "Oh god." He strains to reach Castiel's neck and when he does he says "gonna breed you up, baby" and "fuck, Cas" and "my omega" into the skin that's bruising his lips with how it's bouncing into his face before he bites down. _Hard_. Breaks the skin and he stays latched there as Castiel lets out an utterly wrecked noise and cums, hot and thick and so built up between them while the metallic taste of blood coats Dean's tongue.  
  
Dean's body trembles all over from the exertion and then his knot catches and Castiel's noise at the girth of it spreading him farther than he could ever imagined possible pushes Dean over the edge. His cock throbs and pulses, shoots what seems like an endless load into Castiel's waiting body.  
  


* * *

  
  
They cling to each other, come down from their high. It's uncomfortable cold now, pitch black in the night. Dean's knot has gone down, his cock has slipped free. The cum that is crusting and dry in his pubic hair feels itchy but Dean's couldn't care less in the moment. They've been sitting clutched to each other for what feels like hours and neither has spoken a word, Cas tense against him.  
  
"Cas?" He says softly, stroking his hair.  
  
"Mm?" Cas nuzzles into Dean's neck.  
  
"What uh- are you alright? How are you feeling?"  
  
Castiel sighs, Dean thinks. The sound is muffled against his skin. His head pulls away slowly and he looks Dean in the eyes. They're green again, normal again. They show his anxiety for Castiel's welfare.  
  
"Dean?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I think I'm in heat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're probably saying "bullshit to these gerry cans" but let me tell you. Gerry cans saved me on the roads and open water more times than I can count. Seriously.


	19. California

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean wait out his heat before their search for the Everglow continues. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got this all done and then went "do I like this end?"  
> I know, I know. I do that in every story. That's why everything multi-chapter looks abandoned but it won't be. I promise! I'm going to adjust some things and get it up. Updates will slow down a little but I'm doing my best to keep up a steady pace on this one so I can get V finished next (I rewrote the last chapter of it about 4 times now. Fail.) and then get back to Real Housewives (which I went FUCK THIS NOISE and decided to do some research and have now scrapped about 10 chapters in favor of a new direction. ADHD and writing do not a good team make.)  
> As always feedback makes my day.

They make it back to shore and to the Jeep in record time. Castiel is squirming uncomfortably, slick seeping through his underwear that's leaving him damp. Dean drives them aimlessly through California in search of somewhere secluded. Thankfully, it's not hard to find a big house far off from others when you're near to the towns celebrities flock to. It's an hour and half drive North of Los Angeles that Dean finds a massive mansion right on the edge of a cliff that some hot shot famous person likely lived in but all he can think about is getting Castiel somewhere far, far away from any alphas who might be roaming around.  
  
Previously Dean had sought out other people. He wanted to believe they weren't alone here. Wanted to pretend there was some normalcy to his life still. He had been letting himself believe that if he just stuck with what population there was somehow they'd be accepted. No one had come after Cas yet, had even recognized what he was when they'd encountered people. It was solid proof that Castiel's delicious odour was for Dean's nose only. Not even Garth, his fellow omega, had realized but Dean understands now when he struggles to breath without popping a boner why that isn't the case. He's reminded that he is a rare alpha, that the others would not be able to refrain, would not consider Castiel a partner but instead consider him fresh meat to use and abuse until it had to be discarded.  
  
Dean breathes heavily in and out of his mouth and covers his nose until he can settle them both in comfortably at the home on the hill that he's found.  


* * *

  
  
The next two days are rough. Castiel is a needy little omega who can't get his fill now that he's finally experienced what it can be like and Dean is extremely overwhelmed by all the new things he can sense about Castiel now that they're mated. The second each of Castiel's waves of heat starts Dean's body goes into fuck-breed-mate overdrive and he has to find him, has to have him right then. They can be on opposite ends of the home, exploring it's many corners, trying to figure out who may have lived here before all of this, and Dean will suddenly feel a twinge in his cock. He'll feel a bead of sweat form at his temple. He'll feel his stomach curl in on itself and he's stalking through the house in search of Castiel, cock purple at the tip from all the blood rushing to it and ready, so ready to be emptied again.  
  
It wouldn't be so bad if they didn't have a psychopath out looking for them somewhere. It wouldn't be so bad if Castiel's body was used to this sort of thing. By the end of that second day his rim is so red and swollen that Dean sticks him in a cool bathtub and washes him gently because Castiel is in far too fragile a state to stand and shower himself. He winces and hisses when Dean runs a cleansing hand over his entrance and Dean has to apologize to him, feels guilt creeping in and climbing over the blissful spent feeling he has from so many orgasms.  
  
"That was rather embarrassing."  
  
"Please," Dean laughs as he threads his fingers through Castiel's ebony hair. "That was awesome. You're the sexiest omega I've ever seen."  
  
"I'm the only omega you've ever seen," he mutters playfully.  
  
"What about-" Dean cuts off before he can mention Garth. He's a sore spot for both of them for many different reasons. "Either way. Wasn't how I wanted our first time, and second, and third, and fourth an-"  
  
"Okay," Castiel injects, "I get it. You didn't enjoy it?"  
  
Dean laughs again, his joy obvious in their newfound bond, "I wanted to woo you but I really can't complain. You're so _flexible_." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and Castiel sinks a little lower into the water, skin starting to colour.  
  
"I'm just glad it's over. I can understand now why people feel like they'll die if they don't tend to their heats. It's much more intense when there's the prospect of a mate and satisfaction present." Castiel looks up at Dean and the feeling of love pours out between them, profound and limitless and so unique in the world they live in. "We should get back on track tomorrow. Are there any more islands?"  
  
"Hawaii."  
  
Castiel smiles at Dean, affectionate, but rolls his eyes too. "A little more mainland maybe?" Castiel doesn't say it but they both know that they doubt someone like Garth, who was strung out and overdosing in Nevada, managed to take a boat all by himself from Hawaii to the continental United States. Nothing about him gave off the vibe that he would have the drive to go so far alone. Even if he'd had a speed boat it would have taken at least four days and if there's a cluster of omegas living in Hawaii are they really letting someone use one of their vessels knowing it's likely to never return? Doubtful.  
  
"Not in California. We'll have to keep moving up the coastal States I guess."  
  
Castiel pauses for a moment, thinks about this. Should they? He isn't entirely sure he still wants to believe in Garth's dying words. He nods, though. "Yeah. I think it's a good idea. Do you think we could take a day or two to travel around this area? I've heard a lot of things about California and I'd really like to do some sight seeing before we go North."  
  
Dean stands from the side of the tub. He offers a hand to Castiel who takes it and allows himself to be pulled up. Dean's prepared, wraps him in a plush towel that was in a closet just outside the grandiose bathroom. He holds him close to his body as he drips onto the tiled floor. "Anything your heart desires, my omega."  
  
Dean doesn't know if it's a good idea. He felt protective before but now he's a nervous wreck at every moment when he thinks of them running into people, thinks of Castiel being harmed in any way. He hopes that he'll adjust to their new connection soon. He isn't sure if he'll ever be able to say no to Castiel again.  


* * *

  
  
They drive a winding road through million dollars home to get to the Hollywood sign. They get lost and hit many dead ends along the way. "Why would anyone put up with this shit for a sign" Dean had whined. After the token tacky picture of Dean holding it up, Cas doing the same, and the couple embracing below the giant white letters Castiel had suggested that rather than go back the way they came that they head forward on the road. It's one big swoop down and into the city, the most simple path imaginable to get to and from the sign for tourists. "Guess they don't" Castiel had teased about Dean's earlier complaints. They listened to Frank Sinatra on their way to their next stop.  
  
"I love your singing voice" Castiel had said when Dean sang to him about the way he looked at him, and being the only one he sees, how he was very very extraordinary, and even more than anyone he adored could be.

 

* * *

  
  
They stay in California for two more weeks instead of two more days. Castiel says it's to get a full tourist experience, end of the world style, pictures and memories of how all the attractions are now, but Dean thinks he's just afraid to keep moving along the coast. Dean understands Castiel's concern that Garth was just a dying man rambling because he feels the same sense of dread.  
  
They take pictures with the trolley cars in San Fransisco, pictures at pier 39, pictures on Lombard Street as they walk all the way up its many steps. They take pictures in Joshua Tree, climbing rocks that look no different than they did fifty and sixty and two hundred years ago, pictures of Alcatraz where it floats off the mainland. It's gone from looking like the prison it was to looking in better shape than most of the buildings that surround them where they view it from.  
  
They walk through a decrepit Disneyland and what remains of Sea World, water dark and slimy with bones floating in a few of the enclosures where animals were abandoned and have now decayed, and the San Diego zoo. They visit the Winchester Mystery house at Castiel's insistence simply because of Dean's last name. Dean doesn't find it all that amusing when Castiel makes him stand beside the sign for a picture. He juts his bottom lip out in an indignant pout.  
  
They visit the Redwood forest and they both have to stop and marvel. Ancient trees still stand. The forest is vast. The forest is beautiful. Castiel reaches his arms far as he can around their trunks and Dean takes pictures of how petite he is in comparison. Castiel reminds Dean this nature is what he smells like. Dean is overcome with love because what could possibly smell better in a world so toxic than the purity of the oxygen in such a magnificent place? It's one of, if not the only, places they've been that remains entirely untouched. It looks the same as it did before the slow burning apocalypse arrived save for the fact there are no other people visiting.  
  
They camp in the forest the night they visit, under the leaves, under the trees, in their sleeping bags in the dirt. It's cold under the canopy of green in the early days of December but neither man can complain as they soak up this rarity. They snuggle close and in the early morning when light manages to break through the leaves Dean fucks Castiel against the ground, dirt of the forest floor lodging under twenty finger nails and remaining there for days as a memoir.  
  
Neither of them wants to, but they leave California the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unrelated note it's the 25th anniversary this month of Fear of the Dark by Iron Maiden. Considering writing a short little story based around the creepy crawly that is that song/album. Thoughts? Opinions?


	20. Regards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean recalls a tragic event that reveals something about their nemesis' background and the boys find a place they decide to call home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, I guess? Mentions of imprisonment and a very small reference to slavery.   
> I looooove feedback!

Oregon has no islands so Dean says they should just bypass it but in true Castiel form he wants to play tourist a little more. Dean learns in Portland that he's got a bit of a hipster on his hands (though Castiel doesn't understand that reference when Dean says it to him) when they're forced to stop at what used to be Voodoo Donuts but now, according to the sign, is Vod Nts. Dean makes a joke about dying of dysentery. Castiel has never played nor heard of Oregon Trail so his only response is to tilt his head to the side in confusion and offer a squint.  
  
Dean can't think of a gesture that's more endearing to him.  
  
"Do you think we should have gone to Alcatraz?" Castiel asks from the drivers seat. Since Nevada he's been doing a lot more driving. Dean only takes over when he needs to, like during Castiel's heat. Dean struggles to play passenger but the way Castiel is so attentive now, the way he holds the leather wrapped wheel under his fingers, it _does_ things to Dean.   
  
Dean scrunches his nose up at the question. "Seriously?"  
  
Castiel casts his eyes sideways, confusion written all over his features. "What?"   
  
Dean snorts a laugh. "You really are from Canada, aren't you?" He smiles fondly at his partner who just contorts his face even further.  
  
"Yes," Castiel says slowly before he turns his attention back to the road, "why would you assume otherwise?"  
  
Dean's face splits briefly into a grin at the innocence of his mate before his face falls again and he waves a hand dismissively. "I guess there's a chance there's something out there but Omega's going to Alcatraz for safety would be like Black people going to plantations for it." Castiel's eyebrows have disappeared into his hairline at the comment so Dean hurries to continue; "When things were starting to get pretty out of hand with the- the population _decreasing_ panic set in. Kind of like you were raised in some locked down hospital there were omegas dragged to Alcatraz by some weird kind of cult of Alpha Supremacists with a stupid fucking name that kept them in cells and bred them. If an omega got pregnant they were treated like an inmate. They got food, water, a bathroom, some time each day to be with other omegas but if they, uhm, didn't, they-" Dean shifts his gaze out the windshield. Castiel's pinched expression is enough to make his stomach flip-flop anxiously. "They were punished, I guess," he rushes.   
  
Castiel makes a noncommittal noise in his throat and Dean sees from the corner of his eye that his grip on the steering wheel is tight. "This was known?" He grits out.  
  
Dean shakes his head quickly, "not all along. It was going on in secret for no one's sure how many years. I mean, the real prison shut down in the early 60's 'fore I was even born so it could have started up in the 70's even when people started noticing the omega numbers going down. Cults, man." Dean scrubs a hand over his face, wipes at his bottom lip to feel there's crust at the corners of his lips. He's dehydrated. "One of the cult members, some crazy fucker named Alistair, was spouting off about torturing omega's when he was at some bar on the mainland and I guess it really shook the people he was telling up so they wanted to find out for themselves if it was true."  
  
Castiel swallows audibly and his eyes draw into a wince before they're open wide again, mask that says _I'm fine_ perfectly in place. "I see," he chokes out.  
  
Dean sighs. He grabs a pile of their CD's and begins to shuffle them like a deck of cards just so he has something to do with his hands. He wants to reach out to Castiel and offer him some comfort but he's figured Castiel out enough at this point to know that isn't what he wants in this moment. He always puts on a brave face. Dean admires him for his resilience. He can feel the true emotions beneath his calm facade.  
  
"But," Dean adds after several moments of silence, "what he was saying was true and a bunch of people went out there looking for their MIA loved ones and there was like a riot that went down. Lots of blood shed. They cleared it all out again, arrested the cult members that didn't get killed in the riot and some of 'em spilled their guts about what all was going on out there." Dean shrugs, "they got what they deserved."  
  
Castiel nods his agreement shortly, tamping down the desire to say _they deserved far worse_. He inhales sharply, "what did they call themselves?"   
  
Dean squints his eyes, searching for a name he hasn't heard in years. Letters stir in his brain, fuzzy. Voices swirling around in bars while he watched the news, shaking his head with disgust and then he sees it, plain as day, in hand writing that looks far too familiar.   
  
_"The Red Death."_   
  
The conversation ends after that, with both men stiff and uneasy, their hair raised and goosebumps covering them from head to toe.   
  


* * *

  
  
Dean decides they'll do their sight seeing in Washington first. That way, if they do find this magical and mystical island they won't have missed the opportunity to see the state. At least that's what he tells Castiel. He's not ready to admit he's afraid they're not going to find anything and this will all have been for not and then what will they do?  
  
When they've seen everything there is to see they repeat the actions they took in California. The Jeep gets tucked away and they go through a string of boats before they get to one that Dean manages to get started. It doesn't sound in too good of condition, what vehicle would be after so long without use, but it's enough to get from point A to point B.  
  
It's amazing how many islands there are. They don't skip even the smallest ones. The San Juan group that straddles the section of water between the U.S. and Canada is beautiful, breath taking, photographed by Castiel.  
  
The day ends the same as too many before. A fruitless endeavor.  
  
They dock the boat and return to the Jeep. "What now?"  
  
Castiel hefts himself into the high passenger seat. He looks more exhausted than he ever has before and Dean knows it's not a physical kind of tired. "He was obviously just some crazy crack head. Let's find somewhere to stay. I like Seattle."  
  
"Seattle it is."  
  
They drive through the city, into the suburbs, and Dean finds them a house with a garage. He pries it open just enough to roll his body underneath. Inside of it he finds a jack and uses it to prop the door higher. Castiel joins him inside and they use what strength they have left after the futile day to open the door all the way. They park the vehicle inside and unpack only the bare minimum for the night.

 

* * *

  
  
The following morning they're physically refreshed enough for a conversation.  
  
"I think we should stay," Castiel says from his place folded up inside of Dean's arms.  
  
" _Here_ here?" Dean's hand runs up and down the length of Castiel's exposed arm, the other one across his waist under the sheets.  
  
"Yes. I like the city. It rains all the time. It smells fresh here and I like the water. We could catch our own food. Wouldn't you like to be able to fish? Have fresh food? Actual protein?" Castiel lets his fingers draw tiny circles on Dean's hip, a small coaxing.  
  
"You're right. It would be a nice change. Do you think it's safe though?" It's a two fold question. How safe is it to stay in one place and how safe is it to eat what remains alive in the sea. The waters don't appear polluted, just filled with garbage, but one never knows until they try how safe or sanitary something really is.  
  
Castiel hesitates before he answers. "Yes. We traveled on foot and we left the car behind and it's been a while since we've encountered anything to give the impression someone is still pursuing us. The omega island doesn't exist. It's just you and I and the end of days and I'd like to spend it here, if that's alright with you."  
  
Dean can't argue with that, can't argue with his omega at all. Living out his days in a real home with Castiel sounds pretty good to his ears.  
  
"Okay, Cas," he says softly, and leans down to press a kiss to his messy black hair that leads to their first bout of penetrative sex that isn't brought on by out of control hormones.  
  
That's how December starts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a comment left on the last chapter about not exploring Alcatraz. Now you know why! I'm thinking about going more in depth into that as a secondary part to the story in a separate fic but I haven't quite decided yet if it's worth it to make this universe a multi-story thing. Thoughts?   
> Alcatraz closed in 1963 and the original Oregon Trail came out in 1971 in case you're like "I thought this was post-apocalypse!" I'm trying to keep all references retro enough that they'd be plausible.


	21. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean enjoy their new life in Seattle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, enjoy this tiny little meaningless bit of dribble because you're all going to hate the next chapter. Drop a comment!

Christmas is spent exchanging blow jobs for breakfast, hand jobs for lunch, and with Dean's knot holding them tied together for dinner.  
  
New Years Eve they stay up until midnight. They kiss. They sleep after that.  
  
It's cold in January while they go out to the pier with fishing rods they found in a sporting goods store. Castiel's nose is pink where it's exposed to the elements. He finds that though he likes the taste of fish he can't seem to stomach the smell very well.  
  
January 24th is Dean's birthday. Castiel tries to return the gift Dean gave him for his. The alpha is surprisingly responsive to having his asshole licked and sucked and played with. He cums with a finger crooked inside of him and Castiel's mouth locked around his cock. He wants to swallow. Really. But he ends up having to spit out when it's all too much and he finds himself gagging on the load.  
  
For Valentines Day Dean cooks for Castiel. They've been having phenomenal luck here with finding food. They're both a little sick of fish by this point but they find new ways to try to flavor it with spices they found in a grocery store six miles from where they're living. It keeps things fresh, even if the spices are old and stale.  
  
March comes and passes. So does April. Spring arrives with warmer air but wetter weather. Castiel makes Dean take him to a home store to find a rain barrel. Dean grumbles about it but does it anyway. Castiel complains of heartburn in May when they've been using lots of lemon and lime juice from some organic market one town over so Dean dials it back.  
  
June brings the heat of Summer. Castiel whines about it endlessly and Dean's amazed at how much such a small man can sweat. He does everything he can to keep the house cool for his mate.  
  
Castiel wakes up one day in the end of the month complaining of stomach discomfort. He says his guts churn and flutter. He lays on his side and clutches his stomach that's distended with bloat. They have never been separate since finding each other but Dean needs to leave his omega now. He has to go in search of medication. He wants to bring Castiel but the younger man says he feels too tired, in too much pain to go.  
  
"I'll be fine," he promises, "please. Hurry."  
  
Dean goes.  
  


* * *

  
  
It's so much like the first time they met. Dean is on his way home after rifling through a pharmacy in search of the right kind of stomach aids when something so fierce shoots through the bond he shares with Castiel that he falls to his knees and sucks in lungfuls of air that are damn near painful.  
  
It isn't a beautiful or romantic or loving feeling now. It's unease. It's terror. It doesn't smell delectable and it doesn't make him feel anything new and glorious. It's a feeling of panic and nothing around him smells of anything but the stale Summer stench of a city that's always damp. The pavement below him reeks, the earth moldy from the strange weather combinations. It's humid here and the ground smells like it's no longer alive but rotting instead. It's strangely poetic how that smells matches the way Dean is feeling when another surge of terror pulses through the bond and stabs him right in the temple.  
  
Dean's feet pound the pavement when he gets to them again. His legs burn as he moves. His heart pounds from exertion and the emotion.  
  
"Cas!" He yells when he slams through the front door. His hands hit his knees as his legs try to go jello below him. He steadies himself, tries to catch his breath.  
  
"Dean," comes the whimper.  
  
Dean rips his head up, eyes flared wide and nostrils straining with how open they are. His jaw sets stiffly, anxious, before it goes slack.  
  
"What are you doing here?"


	22. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean finally face the man who hunts them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings of all kinds.  
> Violence and non-con primarily.  
> Leave me some feedback!

Castiel's pain eases as the morning progresses and when he hears the front door opening he can't help the smile on his face as he trots down the upstairs hallway so he can greet Dean at the stairs.  
  
"That was fast," he's calling out into the home.  
  
"Not fast enough," comes the response and Castiel stops his forward motions. He inhales sharply and he's at the top of the stairs, clutching the banister next to him until his knuckles are white as he's greeted with the face of the interloper.  
  
Castiel searches for words but nothing comes out. With an audible swallow he makes the choice then to run. He dashes back to the bedroom he came from and the sound of loud foot falls jogging up the steps follows him. "Shit shit shit," he's hissing as he rifles through his belongings for the knife he knows is there but hasn't been carrying for far too long.  
  
_"Castiel,"_ a voice sing songs from down the hallway, "come out come out wherever you are." The man whistles at him as if he were trying to gain the attention of a dog. Laughter follows and Castiel feels a sharp pain in his stomach again. He lays a hand over his belly and grips it tight, bent on his knees with his free hand firing every piece of clothing out of his suitcase in search of that God forsaken blade.  
  
He finds it, fingers wrapping around it, and scrambles to his feet just in time for the bedroom doorway to be blocked off. "Hello Castiel," the voice purrs, "been a while, hm?"  
  
Castiel grips the blade tightly and takes a lowered stance, eyes fixed on his target and fingers splayed wide on the other one, ready to reach forth and grab if need be.  
  
The man chuckles. "Really?" He folds his arms across his chest and leans on the door frame. "Now is that any way to treat a guest?"  
  
"You are no guest." He growls it out, low and dangerous. He pours as much threat into it as he possibly can. His guest doesn't flinch. No, he raises an amused eyebrow instead. His eyes are the most beautiful shade of hazel and Castiel has to steel himself to remember those glowing yellow-green-brown orbs could go red at any second. Have to have been red many times before to have done what he has. Castiel can't control his curiosity. "Why did you kill those people?" He wants to understand so badly.  
  
"People?" He laughs loudly. "Tell me, Castiel. How do you catch a butterfly?"  
  
Castiel's eyes turn to slits. He doesn't understand where this is going but he knows it's one of the absurd and sick riddles this man loves so much.  
  
He grins, sharp teeth and plush lips that look to gentle to have taken bites out of a person before killing them but Castiel knows better. "You never let it get wings." He takes a step forward. Castiel understands now.  
  
"Omegas are like butterflies then?" Castiel hunkers down a little and tips his chin up. He rocks on the balls of his feet, antsy. Where the fuck is Dean? He feels sick again at the realization. "So they weren't betas, those people? They were all omegas?"  
  
"The men were, anyway. The women we're alphas." His face is still split open in a smile and Castiel finds himself wondering how someone so sick could seem so innocent. How did he not suspect this sooner? The man takes another step closer. "Put the knife down, Castiel. I'm not going to hurt you." The parallel to Dean's words rings through him. He's so tired of hearing Alpha's say they won't hurt someone. They all hurt someone eventually. It's in their blood.  
  
"Fuck you," he spits.  
  
The man's back seems to stiffen up and Cas is sure that if the guy were a dog his fur would be standing on end, showing his upset. For a minute his cool facade shatters but he puts it back together just as quickly. His hands come up, palms out and open and he tries a gentler looking smile, all sympathy and faux understanding. "Castiel," he repeats, and he sighs. When he shakes his head it looks something akin to affectation and he lets out a weak chuckle. "I understand what Dean sees in you. You're full of fire."  
  
Castiel lets a harsh breath out through his nose. "He's a smart man." The corner of his mouth tips up in a sarcastic smile. "A perfect tribute to the Winchester name." Castiel can't resist himself. Can't help tempting fate. He uses his hand that's free of a weapon to grab the collar of his shirt and he yanks it down, tilts his head the opposite direction to expose his neck where Dean has left a permanent scar, a memento of their union.  
  
The calm and collected character standing before him twitches and collapses again. "You filthy fucking _whore_." He lunges and Castiel is ready for it. What he lacks in strength he makes up for in agility and he's nearly dancing out of the path of the alpha and spinning on his foot as the massive man goes flying past him. He makes an _oof_ noise when he slams into the bed, bouncing on creaky springs as he does.  
  
"Why!" Castiel shouts. He hops forward, slices at the man in front of him. He lets out a pained howl when the blade nicks his right side. Castiel jumps back and starts retreating toward the bedroom door when the other man pushes himself up from the bed and begins to advance. He doesn't even spare a second to glance at the red that seeps from just above his hip. His eyes have those red rims to them Castiel loathes. He's in the door way now, still backing up, cautious. He can't afford one wrong step. "Why'd you do it?"  
  
His breath is noisy, shoulders heaving with it like a bull who sees his target, standing before him and taunting him. He's suddenly running and Castiel tries to jump out of the way again but doesn't quite make it this time. The man catches his ankle and they both hit the ground. _"Why?"_ he mocks. "Disgusting abominations. Male omegas and female alphas? It's a mockery of the flesh."  
  
Castiel is yanking viciously at his ankle, swinging the jagged blade haphazardly at the man. There's blood flying off of it where it lands against his rivals hand and wrist over and over but the alpha is too close to full throttle and it's as though the taller mans pain receptors have shut off completely. He doesn't show a single sign of even being aware of his injuries and Castiel hazards a guess that this isn't his first time being attacked.  
  
"Let me go," he grunts out. He punctuates it with a harsh kick that finally shakes his leg free and he bounds past his attacker and down the stairs. He's nearly to the front door when something slams against the back of his head and the world starts to swirl into blackness and the last thing Castiel sees is the shoes of the intruder next to his face before everything is gone. 

 

* * *

  
  
That's how it happens. That's how everything Dean Winchester ever thought he knew goes flying out the window.  
  
Dean bursts through the door and yells for his mate. Castiel's answering whimper floods him with terror. His eyes struggle between staying fixed on his mates swollen and bloodied face and the proudly grinning one that stands behind him. "What are you doing here?" He's still a little out of breath and now he's adding confusion to the mixture of emotions and it's all leaving him feeling quite dazed. His legs are weak beneath him.  
  
The man only lets out a small laugh in response and his fist is in Castiel's hair, gripping it tight and he holds Dean's knife in his other hand. He waves it around, taunting, his face pulled into a happy expression that shows he has the upper hand here.  
  
"Sam," Dean says slowly, "what's going on?" He takes a tentative step forward. Castiel is on his knees, fingers wrapped around Sam's wrist and there's dry and fresh blood covering both of them where their skin is joined. "It's okay, Cas."  
  
Sam laughs at him and Dean feels every last hair on him stand up in waves of goosebumps at the ease of the sound. It's no sound he's ever heard come from his brother before and he's not quite sure he fully grasps the situation just yet.  
  
"Oh Dean, come on now. Don't lie to the little slut." He shakes Castiel by his hair and the omega claws at the wrist and can't hold back the pained noises that escape him when hair rips free at the root.  
  
"Okay, okay," Dean rushes out. "Why don't you just let him go, Sammy? We can sit down and talk? You can tell me what's going on here." Dean steps forward again, cautious, eyes trained of the two men before him. He tries to look smaller, show Sam he's in charge of this situation. His fingers twitch as they instinctively reach toward the back of his pants for his weapon but he stops himself. This is his brother, after all.  
  
"No, Dean. We're not going anywhere." He waves the knife carelessly at Dean, gestures around the room. "You want to sit you be my guest but I think I'd quite like to stand. I've been doing a lot of sitting, and waiting, and watching." He smirks.  
  
Dean has to swallow to suppress the bile that burns in his throat. "Alright, Sammy." He breaths in and out slowly, paces himself. He stands despite the way his legs still throb from over use. "Whatever you say man."  
  
"Are you not impressed with my effort? With the gifts I've left you?" Sam feigns a pout. It turns into a twisted form of a smile and his fist turns on Castiel's head. He screams out, holds Sam's arm with trembling fingers that have no fight left in them.  
  
"Stop," Dean bellows, "that's enough."  
  
"Why?" Sam sneers, "because he's your mate?"  
  
Dean growls. "Yes, Sam. Cas is my mate."  
  
Sam laughs again. The sound is revolting. "You call yourself an alpha? Look at you." His eyes travel over Dean's hunched figure. "Dad would be so disappointed to see his oldest son now. Playing house with this abomination. A goddamn fag. You, Dean!" Sam sounds floored as the words leave his mouth. "An omega loving faggot." He shakes his head sadly. "You're an insult to your name."  
  
"He killed those people," Castiel tells Dean, "because he doesn't think they presented right."  
  
"Shut up," Sam interrupts, and he curls his hand into a fist of warning.  
  
"Thinks female alphas and male omegas aren't right. He's a product of that vaccine, Dean! He's part of the cult that caused all of us to die off." Castiel's eyes plead for Dean to understand how wrong this entirety of this situation is. How he doesn't deserve this and how Sam can't help himself, has been brainwashed into a life of believing that this is all wrong, has had this hate injected into him at birth. The cocktail of it must be maddening, must cause a psychosis so overwhelming that Sam finds everything but his fellow male alpha's revolting. He likely despises even them.  
  
"I said," Sam grunts, his fist slamming into Castiel's cheek hard enough the blood flies from his parted lips on a pained exhale, _"shut up."_  
  
Dean takes the opportunity of Sam looking down at Castiel to hit him to pounce. His shoulder is a battering ram that meets Sam's chest and forces all the air from his lungs. They tumble to the floor where Dean tries to pummel his brother with agitated fists but Dean struggles with every punch, feels how weak the jabs are when they land because this is Sammy and no matter what he's done Dean can't stand to hurt his brother.  
  
Sam on the other hand doesn't feel so obligated by familial bond to avoid causing his brother harm. He flips his brother off of him with ease and uses the butt of the knife handle to crush Dean's nose in. As Dean holds it, writhing on the floor in pain, Sam stands and dusts himself off. "Let him go," Dean wheezes.  
  
"No," Sam says, "I don't think so." He looms over Dean, a look of resentment written across his features. "You'd attack me for him? I'm your brother. Him? He's just some filth you picked up off the street." Sam turns his attention to Castiel again who has begun slinking away from the scene, quiet as a mouse. "Oh no no," Sam cackles, and he stomps downward on Castiel's thigh, pinning him down in the most painful way imaginable. Castiel lets out a low howl of pain and crumples in on himself. Sam rolls Castiel flat onto his back and sends a foot into his chin. Castiel screams, he wails, he clutches his face and sobs.  
  
Sam grips Castiel's wrists and rips them from his face. He straddles him, kneels on his open palms. "Dean, Dean, Dean," he chastises, his red eyes boring into Castiel's blue ones, "who are you trying to fool? You can't protect him." One finger comes down to trace the bottom of Castiel's lip, smearing the blood that trickles free from the corner of his mouth. "You can't protect anyone." It's said in such a cold and bitter way that Castiel knows there's more to the words than their current predicament would lead him to believe. Sam's finger goes down to trace the scar of Dean's mouth that lives on Castiel's collar now. It makes Castiel nauseous to feel Sam's erect cock pressing into his hip.  
  
"Sick bastard," he mutters, "you get off on hurting people." Sam gives Castiel a small smile that tells him he's right but it's a moment that Dean isn't privy to. Castiel thinks that maybe Sam was always bad and maybe Dean just couldn't see him for what he really was.  
  
"We could have all gotten our rocks off a few times before this one went in the incinerator too but no." Sam draws out the last word, his eyes never leaving Castiel as he taunts his brother. "Dean Winchester, superhero, comes swooping on in to save the damsel in distress." Sam waves one of his hands loosely in the air in faux-awe. He rolls his eyes. "Give it up, Dean. You fucked him. You used him just as any omegas meant to be used. Should have shared the wealth instead of being so selfish. You've had your turn, you've had your fun." Sam's hips move just centimetres, down and into Castiel's clothed hip. "Let someone else have a go."  
  
"You're sick," he mutters again, legs kicking out wildly beneath Sam, trying to buck him off but the alpha is too large, a predator grinning down at his prey, enjoying every moment of his struggles.  
  
"Sam," Dean groans. He's holding his face where his nose is very much out of alignment and stumbling forward. "Sammy stop," he begs, "I'm sorry mom got sick, I'm sorry dad's gone too. You're right, I couldn't protect anyone. I failed you, I failed you."  
  
Sam sighs and shoots his eyes in the direction of his older brother. "Don't you move," he says, his tone jovial as he lifts himself off of Castiel. Instantly the omega brings his hands together, rubs his abused wrists. He's afraid to move but knows he needs to. Slowly he starts to wiggle backwards once Sam has turned his attention toward Dean again.  
  
"Dean." Sam gives him a tight lipped look, his patented bitch face he's been giving his brother since they were just kids.  
  
"What the fuck happened to you, Sammy? You killed those people? Is- Is this my fault?" Dean sways on his feet, falls forward with his hands fisted into Sam's shirt and his younger brother grabs him by the biceps, holds him steady but keeps them in an uncomfortable half-embrace.  
  
"Oh Dean." Sam leans his brother away from him, looks down when Dean looks up so their eyes meet, "I've killed a lot more than just those people."  
  
Dean's stomach hurts with the admission. He can't believe it. He won't. "This isn't you," he croaks out.  
  
"Please," Sam scoffs, "This isn't me? What do you know about me, Dean. You always treat me like some little kid still, some special snowflake. This is me. This is your brother. I'm the superior alpha. I'm the one keeping these abominations at bay. Me. Not you. What have you done to help out? Nothing. You hid in your perfect little home and you smiled about the way the world has gone but I was out there doing what needed to be done. I was out there getting rid of those genetic mistakes and what do you do when you finally get the chance to do right by me? You run off with the thing."  
  
Dean's eyes strain as they bore into Sam, searching frantically for any sign of some semblance of sanity. "You said you'd use him for good," Dean murmurs.  
  
"I would have," Sam agrees, "I'd have let some alphas who needed the release have a go at him before I disposed of him." Sam shrugs one shoulder. "It's tough working with pent up alphas who aren't satisfied to shove their knots in some fake omega holes. Much as I loathe the idea of a male bedding another male that's what you do sometimes. Take one for the team. You're not a team player, Dean. Never have been."  
  
Castiel gags at the image, gags at the memories of how his mother was used that way. He's slinking toward the kitchen, only moving millimetres at a time so he doesn't alert Sam. He hopes for a knife, hopes for something sharp enough to do significant damage. Sam has the blade Dean had given him shoved into his waist, wedged between pants and belt and it's the most dangerous tool in the room that Castiel can get his hands on but he's too afraid to get that close to Sam again right now. His mind is reeling from Dean's emotions, his own, the pain in his gut and his wrists and his face and his legs. His everywhere burns with the abuse and he just wants to escape.  
  
"You know what I think I'll do?" Sam smirks at his brother, eyes glowing an unnatural colour, "I think I'll take one for the team myself here. I'm going to breed your little bitch, Dean. And you? You're going to watch. I'm going to use an omega how it's meant to be used, take it home, and leave you here to die. Save the human race," he mocks.  
  
Dean doesn't have the time to protest because Sam's fist is coming down hard on his face again and Castiel is scrambling to get to his feet and get to something usable in the kitchen. Dean chokes on the blood that fills his mouth, sees it splatter onto Sam's chest when he lolls forward and it sprays from his parted lips on a cough. Sam shoves his brother back harshly and Dean lands on the bottom of the stairs, his back spasms as it hits the sharp edges and they creak and crack under the force of the throw.  
  
Sam turns away from Dean as his eyes sag shut heavily, his breathing ragged as he lays with his back bent over the ledges of the steps and his arms hanging down at his sides as if his spine were broken from the fall. He growls in annoyance when he sees Castiel has vacated his spot. "You really are getting on my last nerve," he says as he stomps through the hall and into the kitchen and Castiel is brandishing a knife and swiping it wildly back and forth as Sam advances on him but Sam just grunts and slaps the weapon away as though it were a fly. "Come on." He grabs Castiel by his hair and yanks.  
  
Castiel falls to his knees, hands clutching at Sam's arm as they had been when Dean arrived, and he slams his body around like a man possessed while Sam drags him along the floor and before his brother.  
  
"Watch now," Sam says, tipping his head toward Dean who opens his eyes to slits and lets his head fall to the side so he can see Castiel, his emerald irises looking sadly into azure ones.  
  
"I love you," Dean rasps, "it's going to be okay." His eyes stay focused on Castiel's face and Castiel nods. The whole place reeks of alpha rage and omega fear and arousal that's coming off of Sam so strongly Castiel is choking on it. It lacks the appeal of Dean's. There's a violent edge to the scent, something that makes his nostrils sting like something overly spicy that you only eat on a dare might.  
  
"Please stop," Castiel whispers. His face is open and terrified as it finds Sam's. "Please."  
  
"You don't want a real alpha?" Sam bats his eyelashes at Castiel, faux sticky-sweet demeanor and Castiel wonders what could have happened to this man to cause him to be so deluded, so angry with everything. Was he born that way? Did it develop? Has someone weaseled their way into his brain and trained this sickness into him? So many questions Castiel knows he'll never have answers for, knows that Dean doesn't have them either.  
  
Sam is undoing his belt and harshly shoving at his pants and boxers. He pulls himself free and Castiel turns his head away, cock-head pushing at his cheek as Sam strokes himself to full length. It takes no time at all, had been stiff already but flagged momentarily when his blood was pumping elsewhere in his pursuit of Castiel. Castiel squeezes his eyes shut tight, waiting in horror for Sam to make his move but the moments pass and nothing is occurring. The only sounds in the room are the breaths of the three men and the sound of Sam's hand going _fap fap fap_ as it rockets up and down his length. Castiel lets his eyes slide open and he understands. Sam is disgusted by the wrongness aspect, of the homosexuality and of the  _abomination_ aspect of this and he gets off of the violence, on the fear. He ejaculates onto his victims in their final moments where they beg for their lives but he never actually has sex with them. Relief washes over Castiel in some small sense that Sam will not be penetrating him because Sam can't bring himself to do that to another man.  
  
Sam did say, though, that he was going to breed Castiel and as Sam's breath becomes more laboured, his orgasm fast approaching, his knot popping at the base of his cock, he pulls Castiel's face forward so his stubbled cheek is rammed into the V of his hips, fingers brushing over his skin as they move along Sam's length and Castiel can taste the sweat and precum and it makes him nauseous. Sam hauls him up and spins him around, throws his body over a table that sits against the wall that was likely used to hold keys and sunglasses and other take-along items alike when there was a family in this home. He's still stroking himself, rhythm breaking as he rips at Castiel's pants and Castiel realizes what Sam is going to do and he screams, and he cries, and he pleads with Dean to save him.  
  
"Sammy," comes the low voice, followed by an unfamiliar clicking sound. Sam freezes, Castiel's pants and underwear half way down his ass and cock still in hand just seconds away from exploding.  
  
"You won't shoot me," Sam says, slowly, and Castiel's pants move lower, and they're under his cheeks now, and he feels Sam's palm pressed flat against one of them, thumb close to the inside curve, ready to pull him open so that Sam can cum against his hole and work the liquid into him.  
  
"Sammy, stop," Dean begs. His voice is broken. It's full of anguish and Castiel can only imagine the things that must be going through his head right now. "Please man, don't make me do this." His voice is quivering, unsteady as tears openly stream down his cheeks.  
  
Sam snorts, a darkly amused sound and then his thumb is pushing into the flesh and pulling ever so slightly and the sound of his other hand stroking rapidly over himself gets louder and the head of his dripping cock is bouncing against Castiel's skin because Sam is that close to him and Castiel panics.  
  
"Dean," he cries out, "I'm pregnant!"  
  
There's only one sound then and it's so loud that Castiel's ears are ringing as he clings desperately to the table. There's a heavy weight laying over him now and there's wetness trickling over his shoulder where Sam's head has landed.  
  
Dean hadn't hesitated. He's pressed the barrel to the back of Sam's neck and fired up so the bullet came out right between his eyes and his body is slumped over Castiel's and there's the dampness of blood and spit and cum that had, thankfully, missed and spilled onto Castiel's leg and Castiel is trembling, unable to hold up the weight of Sam's body but then it's being shoved off of him and Dean is scooping him into his arms and they're both clinging to each other, sobbing into each others skin as they fall against a wall on their shaky limbs, Sam's body leaving a pool of blood to reach their feet and continue to ooze out around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I also could not resist using the word fap because I'm scum.


	23. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel deals with the aftermath of his encounter with Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my boy is starting to teeth and is really not happy about it. Updates will likely be slower until he either pops a tooth or this story is finished. Hoping the tooth comes first.   
> Warning. Sad stuff pertaining to babies in this chapter.  
> Reminder. This will have a bitter sweet/semi happy ending.  
> Leave me some feedback!

A lot of things happen then. Or, a lot of things are felt. Far too strongly.  
  
Castiel knows it's not about him, knows his mate has just suffered a massive trauma in losing his brother, mentally unstable as he may have been. Dean's thoughts and feelings are an endless onslaught that attacks Castiel's consciousness continuously. His head throbs and feels likes his brain is trying to push its way out of him, seep from his nose and ears and throat, escape how it feels so strongly what Dean does.  
  
The emotions aren't all bad. He gets the hints of something positive swirling around in the mess of upset and in a way it relieves him. He can't quite place what it is but if there's anything good in there Castiel has to believe that Dean isn't going to completely collapse over what's just transpired.  
  
"Dean," he whispers, voice so raspy it makes his throat tingle. Dean doesn't acknowledge him. He's on his knees, his hands hung between his legs where there's blood on them. He falls to a cross legged sitting position and he cradles Sam's ripped open skull in his lap, blood and brain matter falling into his open palms.  
  
"Sammy," he whimpers.  
  
Castiel wants to comfort his alpha but something tells him that this is not the time. That Dean needs to grieve on his own. He pulls himself up on tender limbs, still broken from the beating, and makes his way to the bathroom upstairs. Nothing about a cool bath seems relaxing right now but he thinks it might be the best thing to alleviate any swelling he'll have as well as calm the sting of his open wounds.  
  
One of his hands holds his slightly raised stomach the whole walk to the bathroom, the whole time he fills the tub, and whole time he's submerged in the water. He feels nothing. No flutters. Not turns. No little hiccups.  
  
Castiel wants to believe Sam's actions couldn't have harmed the life growing inside of him but the longer it goes on, into the evening and as he lays awake all night in the bed, cold and lonely without his alpha wrapped around him, an unwanted reminder of what his life was before Dean, the more he's prepared to accept the inevitable truth. He's pained by the loss, has never experienced a deeper feeling of anguish. Guilt curls into the depression that's already bone deep. Dean had only been able to bring himself to stop Sam when Castiel had told him of their upcoming addition. He wonders how soon Dean will despise him and leave him when he knows it was all for not. He destroyed his last remaining relative, the last of the Winchester flesh and blood save for his own, to introduce a new life that no longer exists.  
  
Castiel holds himself tight, arms around his torso, mourning his child for what feels like an eternity.  
  


* * *

  
  
"Cas?"  
  
He wakes with blurry eyes, crusty from sleep and tears. He doesn't know when he may have passed out but last he remembers it was bright outside. Now it's dark. His fingers press hard, scrub the debris away.  
  
"Yes, Dean?" It comes out hard. Stiff. He wants to steel himself and appear strong. Dean will leave him, will hate him. He doesn't know what he'll do or where he'll go without him but he won't let on. He won't show weakness. He was alone before, he can be alone again.  
  
"I got- I burned Sammy's body. Collected his ashes. They're in that weird looking cookie jar that was in the kitchen. I hope you don't mind."  
  
Castiel is stricken. "Why would I mind?"  
  
Their eyes meet for the first time and Dean is clearly assessing the damage to his mate. The emerald orbs dart to his stomach momentarily then they're gone again, off to the side, off of Castiel. Castiel covers his exposed torso, shame written all over his face. Castiel knows why Dean is asking even without him offering up an answer. "He was still your brother, Dean."  
  
Dean shrugs, head hung low between slumped shoulders. "Yeah." It comes after a stretch of silence that lasts so long Castiel's starting to wonder if it'll be permanent. He lets out a breath.  
  
"I understand that you-" he stops. Dean's staring at him now, patient as ever. "I wouldn't be upset-" Castiel curls his fingers in, pressing the tips to his firm abdomen. "Do you think I could have the Jeep, at least?"  
  
Dean's brows furrow, confusion clear, "what?"  
  
"I know it's a lot to ask for but I'll need to keep moving. I'm going to make my way back to where I came from to see if- if there's still any doctors. They'll need to... _To remove it_." He feels queasy just saying it. He's glad he's still sitting because he's feeling light headed and his legs spasm tiredly.  
  
"What are you talking about?" Dean smells alarmed and Castiel can't seem to lift his head to meet the alpha's gaze but that doesn't matter because Dean is falling between his legs then, a hand on each of Castiel's naked knees.   
  
Castiel wants to explain, wishes he knew how. Words won't come to him and when he finally opens his mouth to try and force anything out of it a sob takes over his whole body. The shrill noise of his cry is piercing, too high, so devastated. Everything about him shakes as these tears spill like heated streams down his cheeks. He feels them drop off his face, feels where they splash, cold and salty, on his thighs. He's saying "I'm sorry" over and over brokenly between the waves of breath stealing sobs and Dean is trying to grab him here and there, steady him, get his attention, ask him what's wrong, what he's trying to explain.  
  
Eventually, slow as ever, Dean goes still. Castiel is still sniffing but his head pounds from the crying and his teeth ache from being ground together and it takes all of his remaining strength to sedate himself enough to relax his jaw and try to breath normally. He knows Dean finally understands when there's an audible clicking of the alpha's dry throat when he swallows.  
  
"Oh Cas," he whispers. His palms slide up and come to rest, flat and warm, on Castiel's belly. "Jesus Christ, I'm so sorry. I never should have left you alone." Dean removes a palm to grip Castiel's still trembling fingers and he strokes over each knuckle, little circles that follow the pattern of the wrinkles there. "Oh, my angel, please don't cry anymore. This is all my fault."  
  
Castiel doesn't understand. Can't comprehend how Dean could still call him something so beautiful when he's made his life so difficult. "You aren't going to leave?" It's barely a whisper, barely audible, and Castiel isn't entirely sure he made a sound at all until Dean's eyes shift.  
  
"What?" His fingers stop there ministrations and Dean's grip goes tight. "No. Never! How could you ever think that?"  
  
"Be-because of Sam and the Impala and your home in New York and..." He drifts off, looks at the hands that still hold onto his bare stomach.  
  
"Hey, I came after you in that alley, remember? I wanted you to meet Sam. I'm the alpha, Cas. Not you. I'm the one who's supposed to be in control and making their omega do what they say. Alpha's supposed to be head honcho. This isn't your fault." Dean lets their hands that are still on Castiel's stomach find each other, Dean's on top and holding them together, firm on the taut skin. "How long did you know?"  
  
Castiel can't talk abut this. Not yet. This wound is too fresh, still inside him and likely putrefying his womb. Suddenly, he gasps, the sound such a sharp contrast against the emptiness of the room and both their hearts at that moment. It's as if the ground has split open beneath them and he's leaning forward, hand practically pushing right through his flesh. "Dean," he gasps.  
  
"What the hell was that?"


	24. What Summer Brings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas deal with a whirlwind of emotions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord, lord, lord. So fuckin' busy, folks. I have no idea how long it's going to take to get these last handful of chapters out. Nearly bought a '67 Chevelle on the weekend! (That's the Impala's BFF/Cousin). Anyway, doing everything I can to try and try to get time in but as Summer begins things get crazy around here. That's what happens when you live somewhere where it's winter for 7 months a year. Haha. No but really I'm enrolling in some schooling to get an at home job for when baby hits a year so that means my computer is dedicated to school instead of funfiction. But I'm going to finish this and all the other fics. I promise! Slowly. But I will.   
> Also, I still love feedback.

Castiel has never been so happy to be kicked in all his life.  
  
"Cas?" Dean asks, for what must be the fifth or sixth time if the expression on his face means anything. His eyes are wide as both of his hands return to the swell of Castiel's stomach. "Was that-"  
  
"Ohmygod," he gushes, hands finding space between and on top of Dean's. "Oh my god."  
  
"I thought-"  
  
"I thought so too! I couldn't feel any moment since Sa- and I just- oh, oh my god, baby, you're okay." Castiel finds himself to be crying again for a wholly new reason and he's amazed to know there's still tears left in his body to be spilled. He was sure he'd used them all up.  
  
"We're having a baby." Dean's voice is steady, slow. He's ecstatic but his eyes are vacant as they bore into the exposed belly of his mate. He's so aware of his age then. Of this world. Of being the only Winchester left. Castiel is the optimum age for this, young and agile where he is aged and slowing. He thinks of having to hide a child. He thinks of having to have one at all. "Wait- do you- how?"  
  
Castiel frowns. "I- I only know of the doctors from where I was raised. It was a horrible place but what choice do we have? I don't have the parts to birth a child naturally." Castiel tries not to see how easily that could make someone like Sam think _unnatural_ and _abomination_. To be able to conceive and carry but not actually birth? It's one of the many bizarre wonders of human anatomy.   
  
Dean nods. Dean shakes his head. "No. There's got to be something else. How much time do we have?"  
  
"Well, I guess my heat was in November so- so I'm seven and a half months in." Castiel flushes.  
  
Scenarios start flooding Dean's memory and he's having endless _ah-ha_ moments about Castiel's nearly over pregnancy. The sensitivity to smells, the heart burn, the profuse sweating, the stomach pains. His mother had had all those with him and Sam. He remembers her telling them when they were still young all the struggles she went through to bring them into this world. "I don't understand," he comments, his hand smoothing over Castiel's barely there belly, "you're so...."  
  
"Much like a woman the last three months are the ones where we really fill in. My size is normal if not a little small. We don't eat enough anyway for me to have put on much weight. I will now, though. These last months will make me fill in as- as long as we really feed him. I have to start eating more."  
  
Dean's nose scrunches in confusion but he doesn't argue. Any pregnant woman he'd ever seen had been a beach ball of a human being. Maybe it's to do with being male. Maybe it is the half-starvation lifestyle they live. They've eaten better in Seattle than anywhere else but they still stuck to small portions so they wouldn't run through too many supplies too fast. He's never known much about the mystical, mystery thing that is male omega pregnancy but he's mainly relieved to hear Castiel knows what's happening to him and doesn't seem especially concerned.  
  
Castiel reaches out his hand to cup his lovers face tenderly, wetness still glistening in his eyes. "As much as I've loved our home here it's time to go again."  
  
Dean is taken over by sadness but he knows Castiel is right. Though they no longer need to run from this invisible monster that turned out to be Dean's demon they need to find a place where there is someone to help Castiel bring this child into the world. Castiel may know how to wield a knife like a warrior but he couldn't possibly open himself up and hope to survive.  
  
"I love you so much," Dean gushes, leaning into Castiel's gentle hold of him. "A baby," he breaths. His amazement is evident in the word. He tries not to think of his age, how he figures he only has twenty good years left if they're living somewhere secure and how that suddenly seems far too short instead of far too long in this decaying society.  
  
Dean finds his mind drifting to all the dark things they have seen and will see. All the risks that are to come, all the bad that is surrounding them. A lump forms in his throat when he thinks of Sam and he surges up, heart beating like a kick drum in his chest and slams his lips into Castiel's. He needs some good right now. They both do. Castiel can only laugh humourlessly into his mouth, understanding, holding Dean with his fingers tangling into the hair at his nape. The laughter turns into a soft moan when Dean nips at his bottom lip and lays him back on the bed, slow and so gentle as if Castiel is suddenly fragile now that Dean knows what he carries inside of him.  
  
"Still beautiful as the day I met you," Dean tells him quietly as he peppers kisses over Castiel's exposed skin, paying extra attention to his torso. He'd barely noticed the fact Castiel was sleeping in only underwear during their conversation but now it sets his skin on fire to know he's wearing far more layers than the man before him whose flawless flesh shimmers with a layer of sweat and tears in all its relieved glory.  
  
Dean has the oddest sensation then. Like life's just been one giant clam shell and he's been pulling and spying and trying to open it and inside is this perfect pearl that's white and good. So pure and shining. The only thing in this dingy world worth holding onto is what's inside of that shell he's spent forty years itching to open. His fingers smooth over the swell of Castiel's lily white skin, over this delicate and precious pearl, and if his nose wasn't broken and aching he'd bury it in the crook of Castiel's neck to inhale his scent forever more. To recapture that moment a year ago when they had their accidental encounter and never for a second wonder if it was fate that brought them together because what else could it be but a gift from some unseen force that they found each other?  
  
He's a little choked up and blinking back tears at the beauty of this reality he's found. Things have gone wrong, so wrong. His life as he knew it has been carried away on the wind and what he thought was his only family had gone mad before going to the grave Dean had helped him dig for he doesn't even know how long but he has a new family in this man and this child and this is the start of something new and beautiful and changing. Dean's sure of it.  
  
"Dean?" Castiel's voice comes softly, cuts through his drifting thoughts. He smiles, face as soft as his lovers voice, and he closes the gap between their lips in a kiss that is nothing more than his split lip brushing over Castiel's bruised and swollen one but it makes the man below him gasp because all of the feelings that flow between them must make the whole house stink, must be like shocks of lightning striking. "Dean," he repeats, like he's staring into the face of God and the holy grail is so much more than he ever expected and his hands clutch at Dean's arms like if he doesn't hold tight in the moment he might float away.   
  
Dean shakes his head, rids himself of all other thoughts but the hear and now of Castiel laying beneath him. Now is not a moment to be absent. Now isn't the time to be anywhere but the here and now of his mate nearly nude beneath him, eyes so full of love and trust. "Yeah, Cas," he whispers, "I'm here." One of his hands trickles down Castiel's body and finds a home on his hip, thumb flicking in and out of the waistband of his underwear. "I'm right here." His eyes flutter open and closed in the slowest of blinks, body relaxing and releasing all the build up over the last several days.   
  
Castiel returns the same ease and his fingers find their way up the back of Dean's shirt and they're pushing it up and Dean only sits up on his knees for long enough to rid himself of the offensive garment before he's back on Castiel, bodies pressed together from lip to toe. One of Dean's thighs slots up between Castiel's legs and presses a warm heat against his groin. They're flush but he's hovering, keeping the entirety of his weight off of Castiel's mid section now that he knows to be aware.  
  
Castiel lets out a groan of pleasure at the feeling of Dean's denim clad leg against his cotton clad lap. He rocks himself against it, legs spread wide. One of his ankles comes to hook around the back of Dean's leg and he rubs it up and down slowly, thigh to thigh. "You're wearing too much." Castiel hooks a finger through a belt loop and gives a tug. "I want you naked."  
  
Dean takes no time to get himself up and out of what's left of his attire. He leans down to Castiel and folds his fingers into the waist of his bottoms. "Can I?" Castiel frowns for a second, wondering why Dean would even hesitate and then it crashes into him like a wave. He almost lets forth a whimper before he nods at Dean.  
  
"Yes," he murmurs, "Dean I- I'm okay. You don't have to worry, alright?" He looks into green eyes that never leave his face even as they slowly work the boxer-briefs down his legs and add them to the pile of the clothes forming on the floor.   
  
"I can't help it," he mutters, but he's covering Castiel with his own body again anyway. Castiel has to push down that emotion that's bubbling up. Dean's worried about how he's handling the near miss with Sam earlier in the week and Castiel can't really blame him. He's tempted to crack a joke about how taking omegas by force must run in the family, tempted to remind Dean of their first day together, but he stops himself from saying anything along those lines just in time. Probably not funny for Dean, he realizes. Not funny for himself either. He wants to lighten the mood but there doesn't seem to be the right words to adjust the atmosphere so instead he settles for rolling them onto their sides so they still face each other but there's space for him to wriggle himself backwards and create a gap between them.  
  
"Think about this instead." His voice is full of lust, but he's still pleading for Dean to redirect his focus. His hand finds Dean's semi-erect cock and his fingers dance over the sensitive flesh. His index finger chases the ring of skin at the base of the head, a small loop of barely there pressure that ends when it reaches the frenulum. His finger follows that piece of skin down, traces over veins that show through the stiffening organ. He stops at the base and lets his wrist turn over so he can slide his palm under Dean's balls. His other hand takes the place of the first and he's running gentle finger tips and the slightest hint of blunt finger nail over every last millimetre of the tender unit as his other hand massages Dean's balls as though he's trying to reach through his sack and learn everything about them. He squeezes softly, he rolls between thumb and fingers, he strokes over the seam of them. Dean's a mess of soft grunts and tiny moans as Castiel worships the cock he hasn't spared a moment to look away from until now.   
  
His eyes turn up, blue finds green, and he lets out the softest groan. "Your cock..." he trails off, and his finger swipes through the tip, over the slit and collects the bead of precum that's collected there. Castiel brings that finger to his lips and sucks it into his mouth, licks it clean as Dean's emerald irises start to disappear behind lust blown black pupils. "So perfect," Castiel finally decides on, "could touch it all day. Want to all day." He shimmies a little closer, head of Dean's cock able to rest on his thigh.   
  
"Fuck Cas," Dean breaths. His senses finally come to him and one of his hands makes it way between Castiel's legs. It ghosts over his erection, bypasses the balls, and Castiel inhales sharply as a finger breaches his hole. His eyes flutter closed and he tips his forehead so that it lands against Dean's cheek. Dean lets out a pleased groan at the ease with which his finger slides into Castiel's wanting hole. "I love how wet you get," he remarks, finger rocking in and out, slightly different angle every time as he seeks out his mates prostate. "You can touch it all you want." He nudges his hips forward and Castiel turns his dancing fingers into a loose fist, starts up a slow rhythm that involves him squeezing Dean at the base and his wrist twisting at the head. Dean's body stutters with the pleasure it's bringing him and he can hardly fathom how much Castiel's technique has improved since the first time they shared a moment like this.  
  
Castiel's hips shuffle back and forth on the bed sheets, meeting Dean's finger with every press back. Another finger is breaching the rim and the stretch is divine. Castiel can feel the dampness of his slick where it's starting to slip down the backs of his legs, forced out of him every time Dean pulls his fingers back. There's the faintest sound of Castiel's hand and Dean's fingers that's over shadowed by heavy breathing and needy moans as they play with each other like this for ages. The dark outside the bedroom window is shifting to the greyness of a sun threatening its arrival and their orgasms are barely building from the ease of the movements but the pleasure is immense. Finally, Castiel's need takes over and his hands leave Dean so that their bodies can be flush with each other once more. Castiel swings a leg over Dean, hikes it up high so it sits against his waist. Dean holds it in place there against him while Castiel lines Dean's throbbing, leaking cock up with his equally soaked hole and Dean pushes in, one swift motion that has him buried to the hilt and they both cry out at the union.   
  
Dean grips the back of Castiel's neck, tips his head up so their lips can come together like the rest of them and they immediately start to rock their bodies in unison, Dean tipping his hips up while Castiel lets his shift downward. Dean's only moving an inche or two, deep within his lover and feeling the way the muscles contract around him, ridged and wet and so hot it's scalding. "Holy shit," Dean whimpers. Castiel's agreement comes in a similar sound, deep in his throat like words are so beyond him. He's grinding himself steadily onto Dean, his lovers cock nudging against his prostate with every twitch of hips.   
  
They've never shared something so close, so intimate. It's a repeat of the last scene, going on for ages, so pleasurable but not taking them to the edge. They exchange kisses that involve slow moving tongues, rolling in waves against each other much like their lower halves. Dean's the one this time who makes the move to change the pace. He pulls back from Castiel and his cock slips free with a far too satisfying tug of rim around the head. He shudders as the air hits him, almost chilled in comparison to the way Castiel's insides are. "How do you want it?" he asks.  
  
For a long moment Castiel isn't sure how he wants it, just that he does. When the realization hits of what he can have after so long of hoping for it Castiel is nearly giddy. He rolls onto his front, forehead pressed into the pillows as he pops up on his knees. He lays forward on his forearms, elbows bent and shoulders lowered so that his back arches in a tantalizing curve and his ass is high in the air, shiny with his slick where it's presented for Dean.   
  
"Oh God," Dean moans out. Castiel keeps his eyes closed tight, face burrowed into the bed and his body jumps with anticipation when one of Dean's hands lands on his ass. The other finds his hip and Castiel is counting the seconds, waiting for Dean's cock to be in him again but what he's greeted with instead is a tongue, lapping greedily at what's flowing easily from him. His cock gives a very interested twitch and Castiel opens his eyes in time to see precum forming at the tip, thick and ready to fall. He finds the sight nearly overwhelming, all too arousing to know that Dean is the only one who can cause his body to produce such things. His eyes stay fixed between his legs, can see where Dean is on his knees behind him and the tongue is gone and those muscular thighs are lined up with his own and Castiel screams into the bedding when Dean pushes his way back inside.  
  
"Dean," he whines into the pillow, voice muffled as he fucks himself backward onto his mates enormous cock. He manages to keep his eyes open, watches where the pearl of precum jiggles and starts to drip down as his cock swings between his legs from the power of Dean's deep and solid thrusts. It's still loving, still so much more intimate than anything they've shared before and when Dean's fingers grips Castiel's ass cheeks to pull them apart, to give him that centimetre farther for his cock to go in, Castiel has to give up on watching the way the thick fluid is hanging in a wet string from dick to bed because he can't keep his eyes open against the immense ecstasy anymore. "God, fuck, yes, Dean, more." The words keep going, punched out of him loudly into the sheets on every thrust inward. One of his hands balls into the material beneath him, holds it so tight as his face slides up and down against a pillow. He can barely breath. His other hand finds Dean's thigh and it's gripping it, needing to feel more of the man above him, enjoying the way it's slippery with sweat from how long they've both been building.  
  
Dean's thumbs hold Castiel open, eyes focused on the way his hole tugs outward slightly every time Dean's hips pull back. His wonderful omega, so tight, drenching his cock but still holding onto him and sucking him in like it couldn't stand it if he weren't there, fucking into that pretty pink hole for hours on end. It has been hours. Dean knows it when a ray of sun breaks through the bedroom window and streaks across Castiel's back. It had been pitch black when he'd entered the room and though they had talked for a while he knows that his body is aching for release from being teased for longer than it ever has be in his life. His hips get a little erratic, snap forward a little harder and there's the slapping sound of them where they're hitting Castiel now and Dean knows from the chorus of needy words pouring out of his lover that he's nailing Castiel's prostate every time and he's getting so close. Dean can feel the wet spot near his knee, where Castiel's cock is dripping precum onto the bed and he would normally wrap a fist around his omegas cock, help him to the edge, but Dean wants this to go on for as long as he can physically take it.  
  
It doesn't go on much longer though. Castiel lets out a cry and his legs give out. They're splayed open across the mattress and his cock lays pressed down so that it points toward the end of the bed between them, exposed for Dean to view on every outward thrust and the wet spot it's created is still growing and it eggs Dean on, makes Dean's lower abdomen coil tightly. "Gonna cum for me, Cas?" Dean pants out, hands still spreading him open wide.  
  
"Please," Cas gasps, breathing harshly, "give me your knot."   
  
Dean looks to his cock, to the base, to where his knot is full and nearly pulsing with the need to be in an omega hole and Dean can't refuse Castiel. He surges forward one last time and he nearly collapses with the feeling of the wet heat around his knot, locking him against the man below him and Castiel's face turns to the side, contorts in pleasure and his lips part, silent for a moment before his hands tighten on the bed and he whimpers out "oh fuck Dean" and Dean watches as his cum shoots into a puddle against the bedding, keeps soaking the material until it has created a pearly white layer over the head of Castiel, clinging to his dick and that's all Dean can take. He shoots his load into Castiel before he collapses. He manages to shift enough that his weight isn't directly on Castiel and he can roll them onto their sides.   
  
Castiel lets out a satisfied groan while he wriggles his hips backwards against Dean, as if he could possibly be any closer. With an amused chuckle that gets muffled into Castiel's nape Dean strums his fingers over Castiel's stomach, lovingly tapping out a beat familiar to Dean and after all the music they've listened to at this point even familiar to Castiel now. Cas lets out his own humoured huff at that and lets his hands cover Dean's. "Not for nothin' Cas but if we weren't pregnant already I think we would be now." Castiel laughs again, a real noise this time, and shakes his head gently.   
  
"Oh Dean," he murmurs, rolling his eyes before he lets them close and lets sleep take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who is like "da fuq? You can't just not feel kicking for days" I'm here to tell you that depending on where your placenta forms it's very, very possible. I could never feel my child kick! I could feel hiccups sometimes because he was head down and it was like the weirdest little flutter but serious kicks/punches did not exist in my pregnancy and apparently it's kind of common. Who knew? Babies are weird. The size thing is less common but also happens. I never looked pregnant until the last couple weeks!


	25. The Times They Are A Changing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel continue their journey. With the continuation comes a much needed finding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gasp. The fuck is this? A chapter? LIES.  
> See? I swore I'd come back and finish and dammit I will. I will! Now that it's nearly a year after starting this. Whoops. Anyway, hopefully February will bring the end of this long overdue story. Currently off work but the babes still has to be in daycare so I've got some time to spare and I want to dedicate time to this every single day to get it done.
> 
> Warnings apply in this chapter for a little bit of violence. Spouse related violence. 
> 
> I miss feedback so please leave me some! If anyone's still here.

"So where exactly did you come from?" Dean asks as he's folding and rolling clothes, stuffing them into the massive suitcases they'd picked up in Vegas.  
  
"The North," Castiel replies. He's leaning his weight over his own case, using the heel of his hand to press the corner down so that the zipper will catch and close. He doesn't understand how the bag bulges the way it does when he hasn't gotten any new clothing since they got the suit cases to begin with. "Come. On." He grunts with each word and then sighs in victory when the zipper makes a hissing noise as it rips around the corner of the luggage, compressing the contents as it's pulled shut.  
  
"No shit," Dean retorts. He grabs the handles of both cases and drags them down the stairs. They make dull thudding noises as they go and Dean is careful at the bottom of the stairs where his body had been thrown against them a week earlier to avoid the most damaged spots. Castiel is following him and Dean can't help noticing how cautious he is about everything. He wonders if Castiel had been doing that all along in the pregnancy or if it's new because of their scare. He's never noticed it before. "Where in The North?"  
  
Castiel pulls the rear hatch of the Jeep open and easily flips the back seat up so that there's space for the luggage. He tries to help Dean heft the suitcases into the vehicle since it's so high off the ground but Dean shoots him, or, rather, shoots his belly a look before he grunts his way through the process all on his own. Castiel can only sigh. "I'm not an invalid," he mutters, and then, "The Yukon."  
  
"The-" Dean gawks at him, "the Yukon? Jesus." He pulls the top half of the back hatch down and then swings the smaller bottom gate closed after using some amazing Tetris skills to get the rest of their smaller bags of things into the back of the vehicle. "Why on earth did you ever go outside?"  
  
Castiel shoots him a look before going to the garage door. Same as when they arrived he finds the jack they used to prop it so he can help Dean open it. Dean's hesitant to let him and wants to take most of the doors weight onto himself but he's nothing if not a realist and he knows that he can't lift the thing all on his own. Castiel is right, though. He's still as strong as he ever was but after all the burdens his body has gone through when it should have been only focused on growing a child he can't help treating him like he's glass that's dangerously close to shattering. Dean doesn't let himself acknowledge the fact he's just as fragile right now.  
  
"It was," he grunts, "warm in the Summers just like anywhere else." He grunts again as his fingers strain to get the door up. They pull and lift and pull and lift and Castiel is panting by the end of it, red faced and sweat-slicked across his brow. "It was a lovely place, Dean, but it was a place not easy to.... escape." He says it as he makes a move for the Jeep's drivers side and Dean shuffles up behind him, hand on the small of Castiel's back to help lift him into the vehicle. "Dean," Castiel warns.  
  
"Sorry, sorry." Dean hustles his way around to the other side and then they're rolling backward out of the driveway and they only make it to the street before Castiel has his foot firmly planted on the brake. "What is it?" Dean's eyes scan the omegas face and he sees how it's pinched in, sad, looking not unlike he's about to cry.  
  
"Let me just-" Castiel undoes his seat belt and slips out of the vehicle, Dean doing the same. He shuffles through a bag in the back and produces something that makes Dean's heart give an extra-ragged thump.  
  
"Oh," he whispers. Dean nods his understanding and he remains waiting by the vehicle as Castiel readies the camera. He disappears into the home and Dean doesn't question it. They've got enough time for Castiel to say goodbye to this place.  
  
When Castiel comes back outside he waves Dean over and they stand on the edge of the front lawn, which is a symphony of yellow grass that's dried and died, pasted to the muddy brown earth that their feet sinks into. It's always wet here; even when it hasn't been raining, the grounds never really dry. Their faces come close together, cheek to cheek, Dean's arm around Cas' shoulders and Cas' free arm around his waist as he turns the camera to face them and snaps in rapid bursts several pictures of them in front of the house. He pecks Dean on the cheek for one of them and then lets the camera fall to his side, saddened but satisfied.  "Alright," he mutters, feet pulling from the dirt with the dead grass stuck to the sides. He doesn't bother to clean it off, knows it will dry and flake away as they drive and then he'll just have to pull the rubber mats from the Jeep's floor and dust them off. Another upside to the off-road tailored vehicle. "Lets go."  
  
"To... the Yukon?" Dean asks once the vehicle starts rolling out toward the interstate.  
  
"To the Yukon," Castiel agrees.  
  


* * *

  
  
They've been driving around forty-five minutes, Dean's head lolling against the window in a half-asleep trance when he feels it. Something tugs at his insides and it's swirling, an endless vortex eating away at him and he's bolt upright, eyes fixed on Castiel who is pointedly staring out the window as if he has absolutely no idea what's happening. Dean swims through the waves on uncertainty, tries to breach them to find out just what they mean but the more he tries, eyes burning Castiel's skin where they stare a hole into it, the more he feels like he's drowning. He opens his mouth, inhales a poor excuse for a breath, and is about to ask what's so upsetting for Castiel when he sees the smaller mans hands flex and twist on the steering wheel and Castiel takes a breath of his own.  
  
"Are we going to talk about this?"  
  
And _oh_. Dean understands. He curses the bond and wishes for it to have an on-off switch. He rolls his head and his eyes back toward the window, eyes hollow and unimpressed green shells that stare out into the bleak grey atmosphere. It's no surprise it's raining. It's _always_ raining and Dean doesn't mind it so much he tells himself, because Castiel had been right. It does make everything smell almost clean but there's only so much a man can take of everything being ugly and making something similar to ticking noises constantly before it's like he's being water boarded with no answers to stop the torture. With a reluctant sigh he shrugs one shoulder, one arm, palm up as if to tell Castiel to go right ahead and start in on the topic.  
  
"Seriously?" Castiel scoffs, and the sound is so bitter that Dean feels forced to turn his gaze back to him. His eyes are slits, directed to the left so that he can't even see Dean in his peripheral vision.  
  
"Yeah, Cas," Dean retorts, his own anger boiling inside of him, " _seriously_." Dean pushes himself so his body is turned toward his mate and he leans forward, into the space of the centre console. "You wanna talk about it? Fuckin' talk about it, then. I've got nothin' to say."  
  
Castiel's grip loosens on the wheel and one hand lifts to slam a fist against the window beside him. It shudders under the abuse and Dean finds himself to be wincing and it's not because he fears Castiel's wounded but because he was worried that the glass may break under the force and he will not go hunting for another vehicle in the endless downpour because Castiel is going through a mood swing.  
  
_"Mood swing?!"_ Castiel hisses and Dean is stuck in a lull of confusion before he realizes he'd said the last part of his thought out loud. "I am not having a fucking mood swing. In case you didn't notice, Dean, there's a box of the ashes of your dead brother in the glove box because not only did he try to rape me, and breed me, he also killed we don't even know how many people because he was in some insane cult. Some cult you fucking knew about!" Castiel stops his onslaught but something stirs inside of Dean that tells him that Castiel has more to say.  
  
"Go ahead," Dean growls, low and vicious, "go ahead and say what you're thinking. I know what you're thinking, Castiel. Bond," he hisses, jabbing a finger into Castiel's neck, over his healed scar, "remember? The one you _had_ to have."  
  
"I was in heat. I had no control over it." Castiel's hands are white on the wheel again and he's going too fast on the slick pavement.  
  
"That so?" Dean lets out a sharp laugh that's anything but funny and he folds his arms across his chest, defensive. "Well excuse me for giving in to the fuckin' guy rubbing himself all over me. Didn't know it was such a burden to be my mate."  
  
"Oh for the love of-" Castiel lets out a noise, deep in the back of his throat because he's had enough of this conversation. "Forget it," he grunts, and his foot is pressing a little firmer and rain is spitting up from the tires to turn the view from the rear window into nothing but a sloppy blur of mud and water.  
  
"Yeah," Dean agrees, "that's what I thought."  
  
Castiel's nose flares so wide Dean wonders how the flesh at the base of it doesn't tear and he raises an eyebrow, cocky. He's too angry to feel anything but proud that he's got Cas so riled up. "You wanna know what I think?"  
  
He's yelling, and in the tiny compartment of the Wrangler it makes Dean's ears ring. His face stays amused. "Oh, I'm sure you're going to tell me."  
  
"You knew."  
  
Dean's eyes narrow and if Castiel were to look he'd know he needs to dial it back. Know that this isn't the time for this or the way to go about questioning Dean. Instead, he's staring into the low visibility, grey with flecks of clear being pushed this way and that by black blades at such a rapid pace that it's making Castiel's vision go fuzzy. "What did you say?"  
  
"You fucking heard me," he spits, "you knew! You said you recognized the writing. Your brother, Dean. Your own goddamn brother. Why'd you even take me all over this God forsaken country if you were just going to let your bro-"  
  
Castiel doesn't get to finish his sentence, gets cut off by his own pained gasp as his head goes slamming left and back and it thumps against the drivers side window, bounces away from it sickeningly and Cas is still gripping the wheel, veering left and off toward the ditch. The vehicle yanks right harshly where Dean adds his hand, trying to steady it and straighten it out because he may have red eyes now, he may be full of righteous alpha anger, and he may have just clocked Castiel so hard in the jaw that all the omega can taste right now is his own tinny blood pooling on his tongue but Dean does not have a death wish.  
  
The tires squeal when they lose traction and the metal box is spinning now, going left and right as Dean leans over to try and correct but he can't get it right from here, keeps over correcting and they're hydro-planing, and they're drifting, and the vehicle whips around so quickly that Dean's head hits a window too and he's howling, clutching his head, breathing too aggressively when the vehicle finally comes to a stop facing the wrong direction on the road.  
  
Dean stumbles out of his side of the vehicle and makes his way around it. He blinks away the rain that dampens his skin and opens the drivers side. Castiel is whimpering, arms raised to fend off Dean's oncoming attack and protect his face. Dean grabs him by the shoulders of his shirt and hauls him from the vehicle. Castiel manages to get his feet under him and they tumble along in awkward attempts at steps before Dean is shoving him into the ground beside the highway. Castiel is sticking to the mud like it's glue, drenched already and he does nothing but stare up into Dean's face, shaking in terror as his gaze finally meets nothing but blood red rings around big black pupils.  
  
"Dean," he tries. His voice drifts away when there's a bright flash and an accompanying crackling of thunder. The sky splits open, white for a second before it's muted again. The rain seems to be as angry as they are, as violent as it turns to hail.  
  
"I killed him," Dean screams, and his hands are in fists as his sides. His veins jump under his skin as he clenches his hands into tighter balls. "I fucking _killed_ my brother. For you!" His eyes are downcast, glowering at Castiel with so much resentment that Castiel can feel the bond between them tearing like it's nothing more than a piece of paper. Dean falls to his knees, straddling Castiel and one hand is wrapped in the collar of his shirt, dangerously close to his throat. Castiel swallows and his Adam's apple brushes against Dean's knuckles. His other hand is still in a fist and Dean is staring at it, staring at the filth on it, staring at the way it shakes with his fury. "My brother," he repeats, softer this time, and Castiel doesn't hear it so much as see the way Dean's lip move with so much defeat.  
  
Castiel lets out a shuddering breath and the sky flashes again. It illuminates Dean in such a way that Castiel takes a moment to be reverent because Dean has a brilliant glow coming from behind him that makes him think of a God. So awe-inspiring that it's painful to look upon but the moment ends quickly and it's replaced by a terrible black haze when Dean takes that shaking fist and swings it with a fiery hatred right through Castiel's cheek and the blood that had already been welled up in his mouth sprays like a fountain through parted lips that only last on their skin and clothes for mere seconds before the wet washes it away. The bitter little white pellets that accompany the rain make Castiel's skin sting everywhere and he doesn't think he's ever been so thankful to be falling into a state of unconsciousness. 

 

* * *

  
  
When Castiel wakes he's alone in the Jeep. His eyes feel gummy and he's unwilling to open them completely because he can still hear the _ting ting ting_ on the roof from fat drops of rain and tiny balls of hail. Reluctantly they slip open and he sees that he's in a parking lot in front of one of those over grown grocery stores that people were so fond of. He never understood it the first time he was in one. It was seemingly endless rows upon rows of nothing but garbage. They stuffed everything they could into the concrete structures and none of it was ever of any significant quality.  
  
At least Dean parked at the front curb so Castiel only has to step out into the weather for a few quick strides before he's cautiously stepping through a busted glass door and into the dimly lit building. The floors are wet where the rain has seeped through the ceiling and Castiel walks slowly so that he won't accidentally slip and fall. He cradles his ever-plumping womb with one arm and keeps his eyes trained on the tiled floor so that he can spot the puddles before he hits them. Something in Castiel knows, as he walks along the fronts of aisles looking for Dean, that he should be doing anything but going in search of the alpha right now. The bond feels odd though, like there's not quite a full blown connection and Castiel is terrified to think that it really had somehow been severed during their altercation.  
  
Castiel paces the length of the store front once, doesn't see Dean in any of the food aisles. He wraps around the side to wear there are toiletries and cosmetics and a pharmacy. Or rather, where there are rusted metal shelves with plastic homes for all assortments of products that are no longer around. The only thing that there seems to still be much of is feminine products varying from the hygienic kind to the vitamin-oriented kind. Castiel shakes his head at this and rolls his eyes. "Figures Alpha women wouldn't take care of themselves," he mumbles. Truth be told, there's so very few alpha woman left that it's only natural for the shelves to remain stocked. Some of the packages are torn, just enough of the products pillaged to get someone by for the time being rather than taking the whole thing and Castiel doesn't have to wonder why that is. Everyone's a nomad eventually, save for a select few (like Dean) who had stayed rooted long as they could, even if that meant death.  
  
When he finds Dean he's in a baby aisle and Castiel feels two things throb. His heart, full of love, and his jaw, full of agony. "Dean," he breaths, and the alpha turns to him with a distant look. "Dean?"  
  
"You're awake." Dean's eyes glance nearly too quick to notice to Castiel's swollen face, an abstract piece of art, covered in faded bruises and fresh ones, with a smattering of dried blood to tie it all together nicely. Castiel touches a hand to where the blood is crusted and he rubs it absently as he draws closer to Dean who takes a step back. Castiel frowns and reaches out for Dean who nimbly slaps his arm away. "Look," Dean grinds out, "I'm not- I'm sorry but I'm not." His face is calm, smoothed over with an eerie look. "You always push me, Cas, and I love you so fuckin' much it hurts sometimes but I'm still an alpha and you're still an omega and you can't say those kinda things to me."  
  
Castiel schools his features, tries to tamp down his rage. He gears himself up with an inhale to lay into Dean again but he's stopped by the icy expression Dean is leveling him with. It punches all the fight right out of him.  
  
"I can feel that, you idiot," Dean reminds him, "how mad you are? It's not an insult. Not some stupid dig that oh you're an omega so you should listen to me it's just the truth, Cas. I'm an alpha and when alpha's get pushed too far they go over board. It was gonna happen sooner or later." Dean finishes the sentence in a small voice and then he's reaching out to run a finger over a pack of diapers. He inspects that same finger, rubs it with another, inspects it again. "Huh."  
  
"Thought I was some fragile pregnant thing," Castiel spits, and he's regretting it when Dean shoots him that same hard stare again but he stands his ground.  
  
"Your face isn't pregnant," Dean supplies coolly. He shrugs and then nods toward the same diapers he'd been touching a moment ago. "Check this out."  
  
Castiel steps a little closer, into Dean's personal space, and the alpha lets him this time. In a moment all to easy, the tension leaves them both. They didn't talk about it so much as reach into each other and rip the emotions that had been bubbling to the surface out, first with love and then with hate and now all seems to be at peace in their two-man world again. "What?" Castiel asks, staring at he isn't sure what. Just a bright teal and yellow package that says Pampers. "They're just diapers. Do you want to take them? I think it's a little early, and there's not much space in the Jeep."  
  
"No," Dean huffs, "fuckin- _really_? Look at the package, Cas. Are you that blind?" Dean swipes at the cardboard of it again and Castiel's lip turns up in a confused half-smirk. Dean groans loudly and grabs the box, yanks it from the shelf, and holds it so close to Castiel he can smell the cardboard, how it's been wet and dry and wet and dry so many times that it's less a rectangular shape and more a paper-mache style mess. "See anything out of the ordinary?" Dean probes.  
  
"Not... really?" Castiel gazes at his mate, eyebrows raised.  
  
Dean tosses the box on the floor and then swipes his hand along several more. He turns around in the aisle and touches formula. He drags Castiel an aisle over and touches his way across bottles and medicines and toys. "None of it," Dean starts, his eyes bright as he looks at Castiel again, "not one single thing of this baby stuff has dust on it."  
  
Castiel almost says so before realization strikes him like the clap of thunder that bellows outside. It takes his mouth several long seconds to go from slack-jawed and speechless to ready for words again. "That's- oh my- _Dean_...." Castiel lets his fingers skirt over some of the things before him now.  
  
"I know," Dean says, and he wraps Castiel in a hug from behind, "I know. What should we do?"  
  
Castiel's ever shifting eyes land on a small pack and he reaches out to pull it from the shelf. He inspects the prenatal vitamins before he pockets them in his mucky, damp trousers. "We should stay here. Wait. Maybe whoever was here will come back and- and-" Castiel is so giddy he can hardly contain himself. He spins in Dean's arms and plants an enthused kiss on his lips. It makes his face ache but he ignores that for now.  
  
Dean is nodding against his mouth and Castiel can feel that his lips are tugged upward in a smile. Before long, the kiss turns heated and their soaked clothing is discarded in favor of sharing body heat, limbs making odd squeaking noises against the linoleum floor as Dean pounds into his aching body. It's a good way to pass the time waiting.  
  



	26. War Never Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean make it to the Canadian border.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the last chapter stirred up a fuck ton of people. I have to say, as I said in one of my comment responses, that I'm actually baffled by the upset over a punch to the face. There's been... a lot worse stuff in this story than 'spousal abuse'. I guess I'm an insensitive person because to me I was like "two dudes get pissed and they fight and they fuck". Maybe I'm just a red neck or something! But to me? That's all it was. Pissed off dude with too much testosterone punches another dude who's lippy. They BOTH have reasons to behave how they did. Do I think anything about it was right? No. Do I think people think properly and are level headed when the world is ending, and they're pregnant, and they're killing family members? Uh, no! Anyway, I'm not trying to justify myself or negate any of your opinions but I just wanted to be clear on my stance on what I wrote. There was, however, some comments about what the characters do/don't feel and will/won't do in the future and to that I say I'm the writer and they're my characters (well, their AU personalities in this are mine anyway, they're the CW's characters) so I'm the only person who knows with 100% certainty what's to come and I hope people realize that they can't judge and assume the future or ending here because the only one who knows what to expect is me! 
> 
> ANYWAY. Enough of that shit. Here's the next chapter! I love feedback. YES, even the negative kind. I'm all for the responses where people address all their concerns with me. 
> 
> Warning for a little bit of spouse on spouse violence. (Don't worry folks, not Dean)

They camp out in the supermarket for three days. No one comes or goes and they decide with heavy hearts to move on. They're only an hour away from the border and the rain has let up a little bit, the hail having ceased almost as quickly as it came. Dean rolls down the window, breathes deep. His nose protests the action and he rolls the window back up. The air is still musty and bitter. It doesn't smell of fresh Summer rains like he had hoped. Or maybe that's just his own dried blood in the busted up extremity.  
  
"So we don't need to talk about it again, right?" Dean asks about thirty minutes into the drive.  
  
Castiel turns in his seat so that he's facing Dean head on. His face is stoic but there's a flash in his eyes that Dean's about to question but then bond feels almost like it's been taken over by a blinding heat and he can't do much more than part his lips before Castiel is launching an arm across the console to hit Dean squarely in his nose.  
  
Dean squeals in agony and writhes at the pain. "Fucking shit. Fucking _shit_. Goddammit. Really, Cas? _Really_?" Dean's hand is held over his throbbing face. He peaks through his fingers at his mate who is calmly staring at his unfurling fist. "Jesus Christ are we done now? We're fucking even." There's blood trickling from the right nostril and as broken as it already had been he's sure it's far worse now. Even if he did try to set it, the poor thing would never be straight again. "Are we done with this now?" Dean asks again, voice muffled and a little off sounding from his current situation.  
  
Castiel hesitates for several moments before he clears his throat. His hands smooth over his pants and he doesn't even contemplate looking up at Dean's face that likely mirrors his own. "Don't you ever fucking hit me again, Dean Winchester, or so help me God I'll kill you." He touches his belly gingerly before he goes stony and stiff again. After that he just grabs a CD and shoves it into the player. He lays his head against the cool window and it grants him much needed relief. His face is still swollen. He'd been wading in and out of the pharmacy section of the store during their brief stay to grab anything he could find to tend to his injuries but he has been avoiding pain killers for the sake of the baby and that means there's still a dull throb constantly reminding him that he has set off two Winchester's in as many weeks. He runs a hand over his belly again and sends up a silent prayer that this child will come out anything but an alpha.  
  
Once he recovers from the unexpected trauma to his face Dean hums along to the music and every so often his hand drifts over to brush against Castiel, little affectionate touches that are meant to be an apology. In the moments after the blow up, when Castiel first woke and they saw the baby department had been used recently, everything had been forgotten and all was well. Three days of disappointment later it was at the surface again. Neither man would actually say they were sorry but both men knew they were. They were both still brimming with anger, but sorry nevertheless.    
  
"What the..." Dean squints at what he sees in the distance and the Jeep slows to a crawl as the eyes of both men land on the border crossing. Dean pulls up to the crossing where the arm is down and flicks off the stereo. "Easy," he tells Castiel softly, and he rolls the window down.  
  
Dean puts on his best smile and hooks his forearm onto the edge of the window frame. "Hey there," he says casually. He nods his head toward the arm that blocks their entry. "Border patrol? That necessary?" He lets out a small chuckle. Beside him Castiel does his best not to fidget and keeps his chin tipped upward. An omega would be looking down, hiding their injuries.  
  
"Fuck happened to you?" The man in the booth grunts. Dean swallows nervously. He stinks of alcohol so strongly that Dean's nose tingles. He's a little surprised he can still smell anything.  
  
"Fight." His eyes track every movement the man makes and he can feel that Castiel is anxious and knows his eyes are darting around to take in everything except the man. He spares a moment to think they make a great team despite everything that's transpired between them.  
  
"Uh-huh." The man sways when he stands up and Dean's eyes instantly go to the gun at his hip. His jaw starts to ache with how hard he's clenching it shut. "What brings you to Canada?"  
  
"What are you, border patrol?" He says it casually, laces it with a humorous tone.  
  
"Yep." It's all he says and one of side of his face crumples upward in an ugly sneer that's accompanied by a wet inhale. Dean's stomach rolls.   
  
"Cool," he says slowly, "so are you gonna let us through?" His eyes are cautious, still focusing on the unkempt character before him and he feels when Castiel brushes his fingers discreetly against him, a silent soothing, a flicker of comfort and faith from the mate he's been so distant from since Sam died.  
  
The strangest bark of high pitched laughter that sounds far from funny erupts from the man. "Be my guest," he says, and the mechanical arm before them lifts into the sky with the push of a button and Dean is left gawking at the man for several moments before Castiel jostles him with a firm hand at his elbow and Dean nods a thank you before he slowly rolls through the barrier. He hears a "good luck, ya poor bastards" hollered from the man in the booth that does nothing but confuse him.  
  
"That was scary," Dean says on an unsteady exhale.  
  
Castiel nods quietly. "He was... _Strange_."  
  
"I'll say," Dean murmurs. Silence falls after that, and it's so deafening that Dean finds himself rifling through the CD's in search of something to fill the cabin of the vehicle.  
  
Twenty minutes later the music is being clicked off, a sub-conscious thing everyone seems to do when their drive isn't what they're expecting, whether the driver be lost or otherwise. The reason now definitely falls into the _otherwise_ category.  
  
"What the..." falls from Dean's lips as he stares through the windshield, Jeep slowing again and finally coming to a stop when he forgets to put pressure on the gas. "Cas," he finally croaks out, throat dry from the way his mouth has been hanging open, "Cas are you seein' this too or am I going crazy?"  
  
"Perhaps we're both going crazy," Castiel answers. He scrubs at his eyes, blinks them rapidly, "because I am definitely seeing this."  
  
The landscape had been a welcome change from the cities. All the driving through vastly overgrown greenery had left Dean and Castiel both almost tricked into believing that maybe the world had just gone on as normal over here. Outside of the ghost towns that were _all_ the towns everything had been beautiful and peaceful since coming to the West coast. Seattle had been a safe haven for a long, long time and the bubble they'd built up had them almost believing life was going to keep being a happy little bubble that would carry them away from all of this. Never had they been so wrong.  
  
The green stops so abruptly it's as if someone drew a line across the ground and decided "here is where the world ends". Dean is just inside that end of the world where the Jeep has stopped. He cracks a window and takes in a lungful of air. Nothing has magically changed since twenty yards back. There isn't some atmosphere with an invisible barrier causing this. Dean, in his infinite wisdom, decides he needs to observe this new land on foot. Castiel contemplates hurrying to join him but instead stays planted in the passenger seat. He's got a bad feeling low in his stomach and he knows it isn't baby related indigestion.  
  
The earth is scorched. The only colours are white and black and the grey Dean had become so familiar with living in New York all those years. Trees, if any of there crisp trunks remain, have rickety excuses for limbs left, melted from the heat of the burn. They look like horrific fingers at their ends, reaching out toward the road as if they had been trying to escape their fate. What was once grass and weeds and flowers alike along the sides of the highway is now flattened, covered in a layer of ash and dust and bits of singed bark, tiny crumpled up remainders of leaves scattered haphazardly about the area.  
  
When Dean looks up, squinting into the distance for three directions he can see nothing but the endless massacre the earth here has undergone. Behind him is like a bizarre dream. How had this happened and why is it such a perfectly preserved line? When Dean really thinks about it he's reminded of studying history and of battle grounds. Of barriers built by one land to keep attackers at bay. Dean's hair raises on the back of his neck, a cold and prickling thing, at the notion that a war had been waged here and the results had left such devastating destruction. How could such a thing happen and when? There's nothing here to allude to the fact anyone has been around in recent history. The man at the border, though, now his strange reaction to allowing Dean access makes a little more sense. He knew what would be here. Dean wonders what else he knows about this and why he didn't simply tell Dean and Castiel that soon enough they would find themselves met with the scene.  
  
"Dean." It's soft and distant. Dean's eyes scan more of the landscape before they find the Jeep and find his mate through the glass of the front window. Castiel is far away. When did Dean get this far? He hadn't noticed his feet carrying him but he's probably fifty yards out, Castiel just a dark haired, pale blip behind the cracked glass of the windshield. He knows that Castiel's calling him back, worrying for him and he can feel the unease rolling off of his partner from here. Dean shakes his head at himself and jogs back to the vehicle. He hefts himself in and turns the engine over. "Should we- continue?" Castiel asks.  
  
Dean's fingers twist on the steering wheel, a low squelch of leather under clammy palms the only noise before Dean cracks his jaw audibly. "Yeah," he grunts, "I don't know what the hell happened here but a little forest fire isn't going to stop us from having a baby, right?" He turns to face Castiel and puts one of those nervous palms onto his abdomen. "If there's someone who can bring that child into the world out there, we're going to find them." Dean puts the vehicle into gear. "Besides," he continues, eyes on Castiel rather than the road he drives them down, "it's not like this damage is going to go on forever. It'll probably be good again before we know." Dean shoots his omega a cheeky grin and Castiel finds himself returning it. 


End file.
